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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18346-8.txt b/18346-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7407ee3 --- /dev/null +++ b/18346-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4608 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Null-ABC, by Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuire + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Null-ABC + +Author: Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuire + +Illustrator: van Dongen + +Release Date: May 8, 2006 [EBook #18346] +[Last updated: June 29, 2014] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NULL-ABC *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's note: +This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction, February and +March, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + + NULL-ABC + + + BY H. BEAM PIPER AND JOHN J. McGUIRE + + + + + _There's some reaction these days that + holds scientists responsible for war. Take it one step further: + What happens if "book-learnin'" is held responsible ...?_ + + + Illustrated by van Dongen + + + + +Chester Pelton retracted his paunch as far as the breakfast seat would +permit; the table, its advent preceded by a collection of +mouth-watering aromas, slid noiselessly out of the pantry and clicked +into place in front of him. + +"Everything all right, Miss Claire?" a voice floated out after it from +beyond. "Anything else you want?" + +"Everything's just fine, Mrs. Harris," Claire replied. "I suppose Mr. +Pelton'll want seconds, and Ray'll probably want thirds and fourths of +everything." She waved a hand over the photocell that closed the +pantry door, and slid into place across from her brother, who already +had a glass of fruit juice in one hand and was lifting platter covers +with the other. + +"Real eggs!" the boy was announcing. "Bacon. Wheat-bread toast." He +looked again. "Hey, Sis, is this real cow-made butter?" + +"Yes. Now go ahead and eat." + +As though Ray needed encouragement, Chester Pelton thought, watching +his son use a spoon--the biggest one available--to dump gobs of honey +on his toast. While he was helping himself to bacon and eggs, he could +hear Ray's full-mouthed exclamation: "This is real bee-comb honey, +too!" That pleased him. The boy was a true Pelton; only needed one +bite to distinguish between real and synthetic food. + +"Bet this breakfast didn't cost a dollar under five C," Ray continued, +a little more audibly, between bites. + +[Illustration:] + +That was another Pelton trait; even at fifteen, the boy was learning +the value of money. Claire seemed to disapprove, however. + +"Oh, Ray; try not to always think of what things cost," she reproved. + +"If I had all she spends on natural food, I could have a this-season's +model 'copter-bike, like Jimmy Hartnett," Ray continued. + +Pelton frowned. "I don't want you running around with that boy, Ray," +he said, his mouth full of bacon and eggs. Under his daughter's look +of disapproval, he swallowed hastily, then continued: "He's not the +sort of company I want my son keeping." + +"But, Senator," Ray protested. "He lives next door to us. Why, we can +see Hartnett's aerial from the top of our landing stage!" + +"That doesn't matter," he said, in a tone meant to indicate that the +subject was not to be debated. "He's a Literate!" + +"More eggs, Senator?" Claire asked, extending the platter and +gesturing with the serving knife. + +He chuckled inwardly. Claire always knew what to do when his temper +started climbing to critical mass. He allowed her to load his plate +again. + +"And speaking of our landing stage, have you been up there, this +morning, Ray?" he asked. + +They both looked at him inquiringly. + +"Delivered last evening, while you two were out," he explained. "New +winter model Rolls-Cadipac." He felt a glow of paternal pleasure as +Claire gave a yelp of delight and aimed a glancing kiss at the top of +his bald head. Ray dropped his fork, slid from his seat, and bolted +for the lift, even bacon, eggs, and real bee-comb honey forgotten. + +With elaborate absent-mindedness, Chester Pelton reached for the +switch to turn on the video screen over the pantry door. + +"Oh-oh! Oh-oh!" Claire's slender hand went out to stop his own. "Not +till coffee and cigarettes, Senator." + +"It's almost oh-eight-fifteen; I want the newscast." + +"Can't you just relax for a while? Honestly, Senator, you're killing +yourself." + +"Oh, rubbish! I've been working a little hard, but--" + +"You've been working too hard. And today, with the sale at the store, +and the last day of the campaign--" + +"Why the devil did that idiot of a Latterman have the sale advertised +for today, anyhow?" he fumed. "Doesn't he know I'm running for the +Senate?" + +"I doubt it," Claire said. "He may have heard of it, the way you've +heard about an election in Pakistan or Abyssinia, or he just may not +know there is such a thing as politics. I think he does know there's a +world outside the store, but he doesn't care much what goes on in it." +She pushed her plate aside, poured a cup of coffee, and levered a +cigarette from the Readilit, puffing at it with the relish of the +morning's first smoke. "All he knows is that we're holding our sale +three days ahead of Macy & Gimbel's." + +"Russ is a good businessman," Pelton said seriously. "I wish you'd +take a little more interest in him, Claire." + +"If you mean what I think you do, no thanks," Claire replied. "I +suppose I'll get married, some day--most girls do--but it'll be to +somebody who can hang his business up at the office before he comes +home. Russ Latterman is so married to the store that if he married me +too, it'd be bigamy. Ready for your coffee?" Without waiting for an +answer, she filled his cup and ejected a lighted cigarette from the +box for him, then snapped on the video screen. + +It lit at once, and a nondescriptly handsome young man was grinning +toothily out of it. He wore a white smock, halfway to his knees, and, +over it, an old-fashioned Sam Browne belt which supported a bulky +leather-covered tablet and a large stylus. On the strap which crossed +his breast five or six little metal badges twinkled. + +"... Why no other beer can compare with delicious, tangy, Cardon's +Black Bottle. Won't you try it?" he pleaded. "Then you will see for +yourself why millions of happy drinkers always Call For Cardon's. And +now, that other favorite of millions, Literate First Class Elliot C. +Mongery." + +Pelton muttered: "Why Frank sponsors that blabbermouth of a Mongery--" + +Ray, sliding back onto the bench, returned to his food. + +"Jimmy's book had pictures," he complained, forking up another mixture +of eggs, bacon, toast and honey. + +"Book?" Claire echoed. "Oh, the instructions for the 'copter?" + +"Pipe down, both of you!" Pelton commanded. "The newscast--" + +Literate First Class Elliot C. Mongery, revealed by a quick left +quarter-turn of the pickup camera, wore the same starchy white smock, +the same Sam Browne belt glittering with the badges of the +organizations and corporations for whom he was authorized to practice +Literacy. The tablet on his belt, Pelton knew, was really a +camouflaged holster for a small automatic, and the gold stylus was a +gas-projector. The black-leather-jacketed bodyguards, of course, were +discreetly out of range of the camera. Members of the Associated +Fraternities of Literates weren't exactly loved by the non-reading +public they claimed to serve. The sight of one of those starchy, +perpetually-spotless, white smocks always affected Pelton like a red +cape to a bull. He snorted in disdain. The raised eyebrow toward the +announcer on the left, the quick, perennially boyish smile, followed +by the levelly serious gaze into the camera--the whole act might have +been a film-transcription of Mongery's first appearance on the video, +fifteen years ago. At least, it was off the same ear of corn. + +"That big hunk of cheese," Ray commented. For once, Pelton didn't +shush him; that was too close to his own attitude, at least in +family-breakfast-table terminology. + +"... First of all; for the country, and especially the Newer New York +area, and by the way, it looks as though somebody thought somebody +needed a little cooling off, but we'll come to that later. Here's the +forecast: Today and tomorrow, the weather will continue fine; warm in +the sun, chilly in the shadows. There won't be anything to keep you +from the polls, tomorrow, except bird-hunting, or a last chance at a +game of golf. This is the first time within this commentator's memory +that the weather has definitely been in favor of the party out of +power. + +"On the world scene: You'll be glad to hear that the survivors of the +wrecked strato-rocket have all been rescued from the top of Mount +Everest, after a difficult and heroic effort by the Royal Nepalese Air +Force.... The results of last week's election in Russia are being +challenged by twelve of the fourteen parties represented on the +ballot; the only parties not hurling accusations of fraud are the +Democrats, who won, and the Christian Communists, who are about as +influential in Russian politics as the Vegetarian-Anti-Vaccination +Party is here.... The Central Diplomatic Council of the Reunited +Nations has just announced, for the hundred and seventy-eighth time, +that the Arab-Israel dispute has been finally, definitely and +satisfactorily settled. This morning's reports from Baghdad and Tel +Aviv only list four Arabs and six Israelis killed in border clashes in +the past twenty-four hours, so maybe they're really getting things +patched up, after all. During the same period, there were more +fatalities in Newer New York as a result of clashes between the +private troops of rival racket gangs, political parties and business +houses. + +"Which brings us to the local scene. On my way to the studio this +morning, I stopped at City Hall, and found our genial Chief of Police +Delaney, 'Irish' Delaney to most of us, hard at work with a portable +disintegrator, getting rid of record disks and recording tapes of old +and long-settled cases. He had a couple of amusing stories. For +instance, a lone Independent-Conservative partisan broke up a +Radical-Socialist mass meeting preparatory to a march to demonstrate +in Double Times Square, by applying his pocket lighter to one of the +heat-sensitive boxes in the building and activating the sprinkler +system. By the time the Radicals had gotten into dry clothing, there +was a, well, sort of, impromptu Conservative demonstration going on in +Double Times Square, and one of the few things the local gendarmes +won't stand for is an attempt to hold two rival political meetings in +the same area. + +"Curiously, while it was the Radicals who got soaked, it was the +Conservatives who sneezed," Mongery went on, his face glowing with +mischievous amusement. "It seems that while they were holding a +monster rally at Hague Hall, in North Jersey Borough, some person or +persons unknown got at the air-conditioning system with a tank of +sneeze gas, which didn't exactly improve either the speaking style of +Senator Grant Hamilton or the attentiveness of his audience. Needless +to say, there is no police investigation of either incident. Election +shenanigans, like college pranks, are fair play as long as they don't +cause an outright holocaust. And that, I think, is as it should be," +Mongery went on, more seriously. "Most of the horrors of the Twentieth +and Twenty-first Centuries were the result of taking politics too +seriously." + +Pelton snorted again. That was the Literate line, all right; treat +politics as a joke and an election as a sporting event, let the +Independent-Conservative grafters stay in power, and let the Literates +run the country through them. Not, of course, that he disapproved of +those boys in the Young Radical League who'd thought up that +sneeze-gas trick. + +"And now, what you've been waiting for," Mongery continued. "The final +Trotter Poll's pre-election analysis." A novice Literate advanced, +handing him a big loose-leaf book, which he opened with the reverence +a Literate always displayed toward the written word. "This," he said, +"is going to surprise you. For the whole state of Penn-Jersey-York, +the poll shows a probable Radical-Socialist vote of approximately +thirty million, an Independent-Conservative vote of approximately ten +and a half million, and a vote of about a million for what we call the +Who-Gives-A-Damn Party, which, frankly, is the party of your +commentator's choice. Very few sections differ widely from this +average--there will be a much heavier Radical vote in the Pittsburgh +area, and traditionally Conservative Philadelphia and the upper Hudson +Valley will give the Radicals a much smaller majority." + +They all looked at one another, thunderstruck. + +"If Mongery's admitting that, I'm in!" Pelton exclaimed. + +"Yeah, we can start calling him Senator, now, and really mean it," Ray +said. "Maybe old Mongie isn't such a bad sort of twerp, after all." + +"Considering that the Conservatives carried this state by a +substantial majority in the presidential election of two years ago, +and by a huge majority in the previous presidential election of 2136," +Mongery, in the screen, continued, "this verdict of the almost +infallible Trotter Poll needs some explaining. For the most part, it +is the result of the untiring efforts of one man, the dynamic new +leader of the Radical-Socialists and their present candidate for the +Consolidated States of North America Senate, Chester Pelton, who has +transformed that once-moribund party into the vital force it is today. +And this achievement has been due, very largely, to a single slogan +which he had hammered into your ears: _Put the Literates in their +place; our servants, not our masters!_" He brushed a hand +deprecatingly over his white smock and fingered the badges on his +belt. + +"There has always been, on the part of the Illiterate public, some +resentment against organized Literacy. In part, it has been due to the +high fees charged for Literate services, and to what seems, to many, +to be monopolistic practices. But behind that is a general attitude of +anti-intellectualism which is our heritage from the disastrous wars of +the Twentieth and Twenty-first Centuries. Chester Pelton has made +himself the spokesman of this attitude. In his view, it was men who +could read and write who hatched the diabolical political ideologies +and designed the frightful nuclear weapons of that period. In his +mind, Literacy is equated with '_Mein Kampf_' and '_Das Kapital_', +with the A-bomb and the H-bomb, with concentration camps and blasted +cities. From this position, of course, I beg politely to differ. +Literate men also gave us the Magna Charta and the Declaration of +Independence. + +"Now, in spite of a lunatic fringe in the Consolidated Illiterates' +Organization who want just that, Chester Pelton knows that we cannot +abolish Literacy entirely. Even with modern audio-visual recording, +need exists for some modicum of written recording, which can be +rapidly scanned and selected from--indexing, cataloguing, tabulating +data, et cetera--and for at least a few men and women who can form and +interpret the written word. Mr. Pelton, himself, is the owner of a +huge department store, employing over a thousand Illiterates; he must +at all times have the services of at least fifty Literates." + +"And pays through the nose for them, too!" Pelton growled. It was more +than fifty; and Russ Latterman had been forced to get twenty extras +sent in for the sale. + +"Now, since we cannot renounce Literacy entirely, without sinking to +_fellahin_ barbarism, and here I definitely part company with Mr. +Pelton, he fears the potential power of organized Literacy. In a word, +he fears a future Literate Dictatorship." + +"Future? What do you think we have now?" Pelton demanded. + +"Nobody," Mongery said, as though replying to him, "is stupid enough, +today, to want to be a dictator. That ended by the middle of the +Twenty-first Century. Everybody knows what happened to Mussolini, and +Hitler, and Stalin, and all their imitators. Why, it is as much the +public fear of Big Government as the breakdown of civil power because +of the administrative handicap of a shortage of Literate +administrators that is responsible for the disgraceful lawlessness of +the past hundred years. Thus, it speaks well for the public trust in +Chester Pelton's known integrity and sincerity that so many of our +people are willing to agree to his program for socialized Literacy. +They feel that he can be trusted, and, violently as I disagree with +him, I can only say that that trust is not misplaced. + +"Of course, there is also the question, so often raised by Mr. Pelton, +that under the Hamilton machine, the politics, and particularly the +enforcement of the laws, in this state, are unbelievably corrupt, but +I wonder--" + +Mongery paused. "Just a moment; I see a flash bulletin being brought +in." The novice Literate came to his side and gave him a slip of +paper, at which he glanced. Then he laughed heartily. + +"It seems that shortly after I began speaking, the local blue-ribbon +grand jury issued a summons for Chief Delaney to appear before them, +with all his records. Unfortunately, the summons could not be served; +Chief Delaney had just boarded a strato-rocket from Tom Dewey Field +for Buenos Aires." He cocked an eye at the audience. "I know Irish is +going to have a nice time, down there in the springtime of the +Southern Hemisphere. And, incidentally, the Argentine is one of the +few major powers which never signed the World Extradition Convention +of 2087." He raised his hand to his audience. "And now, until tomorrow +at breakfast, sincerely yours for Cardon's Black Bottle, Elliot C. +Mongery." + +"Well, whattaya know; that guy was plugging for you!" Ray said. "And +see how he managed to slide in that bit about corruption, right before +his stooge handed him that bulletin?" + +"I guess every Literate has his price," Chester Pelton said. "I wonder +how much of my money that cost. I always wondered why Frank Cardon +sponsored Mongery. Now I know. Mongery can be had." + +"Uh, beg your pardon, Mr. Pelton," a voice from the hall broke in. + +He turned. Olaf Olafsson, the 'copter driver, was standing at the +entrance to the breakfast nook, a smudge of oil on his cheek and his +straw-colored hair in disorder. "How do I go about startin' this new +'copter?" + +"What?" Olaf had been his driver for ten years. He would have been +less surprised had the ceiling fallen in. "You don't know how to start +it?" + +"No, sir. The controls is all different from on the summer model. +Every time I try to raise it, it backs up; if I try to raise it much +more, we won't have no wall left on the landing stage." + +"Well, isn't there a book?" + +"There ain't no pictures in it; nothing but print. It's a Literate +book," Olaf said in disgust, as though at something obscene. "An' +there ain't nothin' on the instrument board but letters." + +"That's right," Ray agreed. "I saw the book; no pictures in it at +all." + +"Well, of all the quarter-witted stupidity! The confounded imbeciles +at that agency--" + +Pelton started to his feet. Claire unlocked the table and slid it out +of his way. Ray, on a run, started for the lift and vanished. + +"I think some confounded Literate at the Rolls-Cadipac agency did +that," he fumed. "Thought it would be a joke to send me a Literate +instruction book along with a 'copter with a Literate instrument +board. Ah, I get it! So I'd have to call in a Literate to show me how +to start my own 'copter, and by noon they'd be laughing about it in +every bar from Pittsburgh to Plattsburg. Sneaky Literate trick!" They +went to the lift, and found the door closed in their faces. "Oh, +confound that boy!" + +Claire pressed the button. Ray must have left the lift, for the +operating light went on, and in a moment the door opened. He crowded +into the lift, along with his daughter and Olaf. + +On the landing stage, Ray was already in the 'copter, poking at +buttons on the board. + +"Look, Olaf!" he called. "They just shifted them around a little from +the summer model. This one, where the prop-control used to be on the +old model, is the one that backs it up on the ground. Here's the one +that erects and extends the prop,"--he pushed it, and the prop snapped +obediently into place--"and here's the one that controls the lift." + +An ugly suspicion stabbed at Chester Pelton, bringing with it a +feeling of frightened horror. + +"How do you know?" he demanded. + +Ray's eyes remained on the instrument board. He pushed another button, +and the propeller began swinging in a lazy circle; he pressed down +with his right foot, and the 'copter lifted a foot or so. + +"What?" he asked. "Oh, Jimmy showed me how theirs works. Mr. Hartnett +got one like it a week ago." He motioned to Olaf, setting the 'copter +down again. "Come here; I'll show you." + +The suspicion, and the horror passed in a wave of relief. + +"You think you and Olaf, between you, can get that thing to school?" +he asked. + +"Sure! Easy!" + +"All right. You show Olaf how to run it. Olaf, as soon as you've +dropped Ray at school, take that thing to the Rolls-Cadipac agency, +and get a new one, with a proper instrument board, and a proper +picture book of operating instructions. I'm going to call Sam Huschack +up personally and give him royal hell about this. Sure you can handle +it, now?" + +He watched the 'copter rise to the two thousand foot local traffic +level and turn in the direction of Mineola High School, fifty miles +away. He was still looking anxiously after it as it dwindled to a tiny +dot and vanished. + +"They'll make it all right," Claire told him. "Olaf has a strong back, +and Ray has a good head." + +"It wasn't that that I was worried about." He turned and looked, half +ashamed, at his daughter. "You know, for a minute, there, I thought ... I +thought Ray could read!" + +"Father!" She was so shocked that she forgot the nickname they had +given him when he had announced his candidacy for Senate, in the +spring. "You didn't!" + +"I know; it's an awful thing to think, but--Well, the kids today do +the craziest things. There's that Hartnett boy he runs around with; +Tom Hartnett bought Literate training for him. And that fellow +Prestonby; I don't trust him--" + +"Prestonby?" Claire asked, puzzled. + +"Oh, you know. The principal at school. You've met him." + +Claire wrinkled her brow--just like her mother, when she was trying to +remember something. + +"Oh, yes. I met him at that P.T.A. meeting. He didn't impress me as +being much like a teacher, but I suppose they think anything's good +enough for us Illiterates." + + * * * * * + +Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby remained standing by the +lectern, looking out over the crowded auditorium, still pleasantly +surprised to estimate the day's attendance at something like +ninety-seven per cent of enrollment. That was really good; why, it was +only three per cent short of perfect! Maybe it was the new rule +requiring a sound-recorded excuse for absence. Or it could have been +his propaganda campaign about the benefits of education. Or, very +easily, it could have been the result of sending Doug Yetsko and some +of his boys around to talk to recalcitrant parents. It was good to see +that that was having some effect beside an increase in the number of +attempts on his life, or the flood of complaints to the Board of +Education. Well, Lancedale had gotten Education merged with his +Office of Communications, and Lancedale was back of him to the limit, +so the complaints had died out on the empty air. And Doug Yetsko was +his bodyguard, so most of the would-be assassins had died, also. + +The "North American Anthem," which had replaced the "Star-Spangled +Banner" after the United States-Canadian-Mexican merger, came to an +end. The students and their white-smocked teachers, below, relaxed +from attention; most of them sat down, while monitors and teachers in +the rear were getting the students into the aisles and marching them +off to study halls and classrooms and workshops. The orchestra struck +up a lively march tune. He leaned his left elbow--Literates learned +early, or did not live to learn, not to immobilize the right hand--on +the lectern and watched the interminable business of getting the +students marched out, yearning, as he always did at this time, for the +privacy of his office, where he could smoke his pipe. Finally, they +were all gone, and the orchestra had gathered up its instruments and +filed out into the wings of the stage, and he looked up to the left +and said, softly: + +"All right, Doug; show's over." + +With a soft thud, the big man dropped down from the guard's cubicle +overhead, grinning cheerfully. He needed a shave--Yetsko always did, +in the mornings--and in his leather Literates' guard uniform, he +looked like some ogreish giant out of the mythology of the past. + +[Illustration:] + +"I was glad to have you up there with the Big Noise, this morning," +Prestonby said. "What a mob! I'm still trying to figure out why we +have such an attendance." + +"Don't you get it, captain?" Yetsko was reaching up to lock the door +of his cubicle; he seemed surprised at Prestonby's obtuseness. "Day +before election; the little darlings' moms and pops don't want them +out running around. We can look for another big crowd tomorrow, too." + +Prestonby gave a snort of disgust. "Of course; how imbecilic can I +really get? I didn't notice any of them falling down, so I suppose you +didn't see anything out of line." + +"Well, the hall monitors make them turn in their little playthings at +the doors," Yetsko said, "but hall monitors can be gotten at, and some +of the stuff they make in Manual Training, when nobody's watching +them--" + +Prestonby nodded. Just a week before, a crude but perfectly operative +17-mm shotgun had been discovered in the last stages of manufacture in +the machine shop, and five out of six of the worn-out files would +vanish, to be ground down into dirks. He often thought of the stories +of his grandfather, who had been a major during the Occupation of +Russia, after the Fourth World War. Those old-timers didn't know how +easy they'd had it; they should have tried to run an Illiterate high +school. + +Yetsko was still grumbling slanders on the legitimacy of the student +body. "One of those little angels shoots me, it's just a cute little +prank, and we oughtn't to frown on the little darling when it's just +trying to express its dear little personality, or we might give it +complexes, or something," he falsettoed incongruously. "And if the +little darling's mistake doesn't kill me outright and I shoot back, +people talk about King Herod!" He used language about the Board of +Education and the tax-paying public that was probably subversive +within the meaning of the Loyalty Oath. "I wish I had a pair of 40-mm +auto-cannons up there, instead of that sono gun." + +"Each class is a little worse than the one before; in about five +years, they'll be making H-bombs in the lab," Prestonby said. In the +last week, a dozen pupils had been seriously cut or blackjacked in +hall and locker-room fights. "Nice citizens of the future; nice future +to look forward to growing old in." + +"We won't," Yetsko comforted him. "We can't be lucky all the time; in +about a year, they'll find both of us stuffed into a broom closet, +when they start looking around to see what's making all the stink." + + * * * * * + +Prestonby took the thick-barreled gas pistol from the shelf under the +lectern and shoved it into his hip pocket; Yetsko picked up a +two-and-a-half foot length of rubber hose and tucked it under his left +arm. Together, they went back through the wings and out into the +hallway that led to the office. So a Twenty-second Century high school +was a place where a teacher carried a pistol and a tear-gas projector +and a sleep-gas gun, and had a bodyguard, and still walked in danger +of his life from armed 'teen-age hooligans. It was meaningless to ask +whose fault it was. There had been the World Wars, and the cold-war +interbellum periods--rising birth rates, huge demands on the public +treasury for armaments, with the public taxed to the saturation point, +and no money left for the schools. There had been fantastic +"Progressive" education experiments--even in the 'Fifties of the +Twentieth Century, in the big cities, children were being pushed +through grade school without having learned to read. And when there +had been money available for education, school boards had insisted on +spending it for audio-visual equipment, recordings, films, anything +but textbooks. And there had been that lunatic theory that children +should be taught to read by recognizing whole words instead of +learning the alphabet. And more and more illiterates had been shoved +out of the schools, into a world where radio and television and moving +pictures were supplanting books and newspapers, and more and more +children of illiterates had gone to school without any desire or +incentive to learn to read. And finally, the illiterates had become +Illiterates, and literacy had become Literacy. + +And now, the Associated Fraternities of Literates had come to +monopolize the ability to read and write, and a few men like William +R. Lancedale, with a handful of followers like Ralph N. Prestonby, +were trying-- + +The gleaming cleanliness of the corridor, as always, heartened +Prestonby a little; it was a trophy of victory from his first two days +at Mineola High School, three years ago. He remembered what they had +looked like when he had first seen them. + +"This school is a pig pen!" he had barked at the janitorial force. +"And even if they are Illiterates, these children aren't pigs; they +deserve decent surroundings. This school will be cleaned, immediately, +from top to bottom, and it'll be kept that way." + +The janitors, all political appointees, Independent-Conservative +party-hacks, secure in their jobs, had laughed derisively. The +building superintendent, without troubling to rise, had answered him: + +"Young man, you don't want to get off on the wrong foot, here," he had +said. "This here's the way this school's always been run, an' it's +gonna take a lot more than you to change it." + +The fellow's name, he recalled, was Kettner; Lancedale had given him +a briefing which had included some particulars about him. He was an +Independent-Conservative ward-committeeman. He had gotten his present +job after being fired from his former position as mailman for +listening to other peoples' mail with his pocket recorder-reproducer. + +"Yetsko," he had said. "Kick this bum out on his face." + +"You can't get away with--" Kettner had begun. Yetsko had yanked him +out of his chair with one hand and started for the door with him. + +"Just a moment, Yetsko," he had said. + +Thinking that he was backing down, they had all begun grinning at him. + +"Don't bother opening the door," he had said. "Just kick him out." + +After the third kick, Kettner had gotten the door open, himself; the +fourth kick sent him across the hall to the opposite wall. He pulled +himself to his feet and limped away, never to return. The next +morning, the school was spotless. It had stayed that way. + +Beside him, Yetsko must also have returned mentally to the past. + +"Looks better now than it did when we first saw it, captain," he said. + +"Yes. It didn't take us as long to clean up this mess as it did to +clean up that mutinous guards company in Pittsburgh. But when we +cleaned that up, it stayed cleaned. This is like trying to bail out a +boat with a pitchfork." + +"Yeah. I wish we'dda stayed in Pittsburgh, captain. I wish we'd never +seen this place!" + +"So do I!" Prestonby agreed, heartily. + +No, he didn't, either. If he'd never have come to Mineola High School, +he'd never have found Claire Pelton. + + * * * * * + +Sitting down again at the breakfast table with her father, Claire +levered another cigarette out of the Readilit and puffed at it with +exaggeratedly bored slowness. She was still frightened. Ray shouldn't +have done what he did, even if he had furnished a plausible +explanation. The trouble with plausible explanations was having to +make them. Sooner or later, you made too many, and then you made one +that wasn't so plausible, and then all the others were remembered, and +they all looked phony. And why had the Senator had to mention Ralph? +Was he beginning to suspect the truth about that, too? + +I hope not! she thought desperately. If he ever found out about that, +it'd kill him. Just kill him, period! + +Mrs. Harris must have turned off the video, after they had gone up to +the landing stage. To cover her nervousness, she reached up and +snapped it on again. The screen lit, and from it a young man with dark +eyes under bushy black brows was shouting angrily: + +"... Most obvious sort of conspiracy! If the Radical-Socialist Party +leaders, or the Consolidated Illiterates' Organization Political +Action Committee, need any further evidence of the character of their +candidate and idolized leader, Chester Pelton, the treatment given to +Pelton's candidacy by Literate First Class Elliot C. Mongery, this +morning, ought to be sufficient to remove the scales from the eyes of +the blindest of them. I won't state, in so many words, that Chester +Pelton's sold out the Radical-Socialists and the Consolidated +Illiterates' Organization to the Associated Fraternities of Literates, +because, since no witness to any actual transfer of money can be +found, such a statement would be libelous--provided Pelton had nerve +enough to sue me." + +"Why, you dirty misbegotten illegitimate--!" Pelton was on his feet. +His hand went to his hip, and then, realizing that he was unarmed and, +in any case, confronted only by an electronic image, he sat down +again. + +"Pelton's been yapping for socialized Literacy," the man on the screen +continued. "I'm not going back to the old argument that any kind of +socialization is only the thin edge of the wedge which will pry open +the pit of horrors from which the world has climbed since the Fourth +World War. If you don't realize that now, it's no use for me to +repeat it again. But I will ask you, do you realize, for a moment, +what a program of socialized Literacy would mean, apart from the +implications of any kind of socialization? It would mean that inside +of five years, the Literates would control the whole government. They +control the courts, now--only a Literate can become a lawyer, and only +a lawyer can become a judge. They control the armed forces--only a +Literate can enter West Point or Fort MacKenzie or Chapultepec or +White Sands or Annapolis. And, if Chester Pelton's socialization +scheme goes into effect, there will be no branch of the government +which will not be completely under the control of the Associated +Fraternities of Literates!" + +The screen went suddenly dark. Her father turned, to catch her with +her hand still on the switch. + +"Put it back on; I want to hear what that lying pimp of a Slade +Gardner's saying about me!" + +"Phooy; you'd have shot it out, yourself, if you'd had your gun on. I +saw you reaching for it. Now be quiet, and take it easy," she ordered. + +He reached toward the Readilit for a cigarette, then his hand stopped. +His face was contorted with pain; he gave a gasp of suffocation. + +Claire cried in dismay: "You're not going to have another of those +attacks? Where are the nitrocaine bulbs?" + +"Don't ... have any ... here. Some at the office, but--" + +"I told you to get more," she accused. + +"Oh, I don't need them, really." His voice was steadier, now; the +spasm of pain had passed. He filled his coffee cup and sipped from it. +"Turn on the video again, Claire. I want to hear what that Gardner's +saying." + +"I will not! Don't you have people at party headquarters monitoring +this stuff? Well, then. Somebody'll prepare an answer, if he needs +answering." + +"I think he does. A lot of these dumbos'll hear that and believe it. +I'll talk to Frank. He'll know what to do." + +Frank again. She frowned. + +"Look, Senator; you think Frank Cardon's your friend, but I don't +trust him. I never could," she said. "I think he's utterly and +entirely unscrupulous. Amoral, I believe, is the word. Like a savage, +or a pirate, or one of the old-time Nazis or Communists." + +"Oh, Claire!" her father protested. "Frank's in a tough business--you +have no idea the lengths competition goes to in the beer business--and +he's been in politics, and dealing with racketeers and labor unions, +all his life. But he's a good sound Illiterate--family Illiterate for +four generations, like ours--and I'd trust him with anything. You +heard this fellow Mongery--I always have to pause to keep from +calling him Mongrel--saying that I deserved the credit for pulling the +Radicals out of the mud and getting the party back on the tracks. +Well, I couldn't have begun to do it without Frank Cardon." + + * * * * * + +Frank Cardon stood on the sidewalk, looking approvingly into the window +of O'Reilly's Tavern, in which his display crew had already set up the +spread for the current week. On either side was a giant six-foot +replica, in black glass, of the Cardon bottle, in the conventional shape +accepted by an Illiterate public as containing beer, bearing the red +Cardon label with its pictured bottle in a central white disk. Because +of the heroic size of the bottles, the pictured bottle on the label bore +a bottle bearing a label bearing a bottle bearing a bottle on a +label.... He counted eight pictured bottles, down to the tiniest dot of +black. There were four-foot bottles next to the six-foot bottles, and +three-foot bottles next to them, and, in the middle background, a +life-size tri-dimensional picture of an almost nude and incredibly +pulchritudinous young lady smiling in invitation at the passing throng +and extending a foaming bottle of Cardon's in her hand. Aside from the +printed trademark-registry statements on the labels, there was not a +printed word visible in the window. + +He pushed through the swinging doors and looked down the long room, +with the chairs still roosting sleepily on the tables, and made a +quick count of the early drinkers, two thirds of them in white smocks +and Sam Browne belts, obviously from Literates' Hall, across the +street. Late drinkers, he corrected himself mentally; they'd be the +night shift, having their drinks before going home. + +"Good morning, Mr. Cardon," the bartender greeted him. "Still drinking +your own?" + +"Hasn't poisoned me yet," Cardon told him. "Or anybody else." He +folded a C-bill accordion-wise and set it on edge on the bar. "Give +everybody what they want." + +"Drink up, gentlemen, and have one on Mr. Cardon," the bartender +announced, then lowered his voice. "O'Reilly wants to see you. +About--" He gave a barely perceptible nod in the direction of the +building across the street. + +"Yes; I want to see him, too." Cardon poured from the bottle in front +of him, accepted the thanks of the house, and, when the bartender +brought the fifteen-dollars-odd change from the dozen drinks, he +pushed it back. + +He drank slowly, looking around the room, then set down his empty +glass and went back, past two doors which bore pictured half-doors +revealing, respectively, masculine-trousered and feminine-stockinged +ankles, and opened the unmarked office door beyond. The bartender, he +knew, had pushed the signal button; the door was unlocked, and, +inside, O'Reilly--baptismal name Luigi Orelli--was waiting. + +"Chief wants to see you, right away," the saloon keeper said. + +The brewer nodded. "All right. Keep me covered; don't know how long +I'll be." He crossed the room and opened a corner-cupboard, stepping +inside. + +The corner cupboard, which was an elevator, took him to a tunnel below +the street. Across the street, he entered another elevator, set the +indicator for the tenth floor, and ascended. As the car rose, he could +feel the personality of Frank Cardon, Illiterate brewer, drop from +him, as though he were an actor returning from the stage to his +dressing room. + +The room into which he emerged was almost that. There was a long +table, at which two white-smocked Literates drank coffee and went over +some papers; a third Literate sprawled in a deep chair, resting; at a +small table, four men in black shirts and leather breeches and field +boots played poker, while a fifth, who had just entered and had not +yet removed his leather helmet and jacket or his weapons belt, stood +watching them. + +Cardon went to a row of lockers along the wall, opened one, and took +out a white smock, pulling it over his head and zipping it up to the +throat. Then he buckled on a Sam Browne with its tablet holster and +stylus gas projector. The Literate sprawling in the chair opened one +eye. + +"Hi, Frank. Feels good to have them on again, doesn't it?" + +"Yes. Clean," Cardon replied. "It'll be just for half an hour, but--" + +He passed through the door across from the elevator, went down a short +hall, and spoke in greeting to the leather-jacketed storm trooper on +guard outside the door at the other end. + +"Mr. Cardon," the guard nodded. "Mr. Lancedale's expecting you." + +"So I understand, Bert." + +He opened the door and went through. William R. Lancedale rose from +behind his desk and advanced to greet him with a quick handshake, +guiding him to a chair beside the desk. As he did, he sniffed and +raised an eyebrow. + +"Beer this early, Frank?" he asked. + +"Morning, noon, and night, chief," Cardon replied. "When you said this +job was going to be dangerous, I didn't know you meant that it would +lead straight to an alcoholic's grave." + +"Let me get you a cup of coffee, and a cigar, then." The white-haired +Literate executive resumed his seat, passing a hand back and forth +slowly across the face of the commo, the diamond on his finger +twinkling, and gave brief instructions. "And just relax, for a minute. +You have a tough job, this time, Frank." + +They were both silent as a novice Literate bustled in with coffee and +individually-sealed cigars. + +"At least, you're not one of these plain-living-and-right-thinking +fanatics, like Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves," Cardon said. "On top +of everything else, that I could not take." + +Lancedale's thin face broke into a smile, little wrinkles putting his +mouth in parentheses. Cardon sampled the coffee, and then used a +Sixteenth Century Italian stiletto from Lancedale's desk to perforate +the end of his cigar. + +"Much as I hate it, I'll have to get out of here as soon as I can," he +said. "I don't know how long O'Reilly can keep me covered, down at the +tavern--" + +Lancedale nodded. "Well, how are things going, then?" + +"First of all, the brewery," Cardon began. + +Lancedale consigned the brewery to perdition. "That's just your cover; +any money it makes is purely irrelevant. How about the election?" + +"Pelton's in," Cardon said. "As nearly in as any candidate ever was +before the polls opened. Three months ago, the Independents were as +solid as Gibraltar used to be. Today, they look like Gibraltar after +that H-bomb hit it. The only difference is, they don't know what hit +them, yet." + +"Hamilton's campaign manager does," Lancedale said. "Did you hear his +telecast, this morning?" + +Cardon shook his head. Lancedale handed over a little half-inch, +thirty-minute, record disk. + +"All you need is the first three or four minutes," he said. "The rest +of it is repetition." + +Cardon put the disk in his pocket recorder and set it for play-back, +putting the plug in his ear. After a while, he shut it off and took +out the ear plug. + +"That's bad! What are we going to do about it?" + +Lancedale shrugged. "What are you going to do?" he countered. "You're +Pelton's campaign manager--Heaven pity him." + +Cardon thought for a moment. "We'll play it for laughs," he decided. "Some +of our semantics experts could make the joke of the year out of it by the +time the polls open tomorrow. The Fraternities bribing their worst enemy to +attack them, so that he can ruin their business; who's been listening to a +tape of 'Alice in Wonderland' at Independent-Conservative headquarters?" + +"That would work," Lancedale agreed. "And we can count on our friends +Joyner and Graves to give you every possible assistance with their +customary bull-in-a-china-shop tactics. I suppose you've seen these +posters they've been plastering around: _If you can read this, +Chester Pelton is your sworn enemy! A vote for Pelton is a vote for +your own enslavement!_" + +"Naturally. And have you seen the telecast we've been using--a view of +it, with a semantically correct spoken paraphrase?" + +Lancedale nodded. "And I've also noticed that those posters have been +acquiring different obscene crayon-drawings, too. That's just typical +of the short-range Joyner-Graves mentality. Why, they've made more +votes for Pelton than he's made for himself. Is it any wonder we're +convinced that people like that aren't to be trusted to formulate the +future policy of the Fraternities?" + +"Well ... they've proved themselves wrong. I wonder, though, if we can +prove ourselves right, in the long run. There are times when this +thing scares me, chief. If anything went wrong--" + +"What, for instance?" + +"Somebody could get to Pelton." Cardon made a stabbing gesture with +the stiletto, which he still held. "Maybe you don't really know how +hot this thing's gotten. What we had to cut out of Mongery's report, +this morning--" + +"Oh, I've been keeping in touch," Lancedale understated gently. + +"Well then. If anything happened to Pelton, there wouldn't be a +Literate left alive in this city twelve hours later. And I question +whether or not Graves and Joyner know that." + +"I think they do. If they don't, it's not because I've failed to point +it out to them. Of course, there are the Independent-Conservative +grafters; a lot of them are beginning to hear jail doors opening for +them, and they're scared. But I think routine body-guarding ought to +protect Pelton from them, or from any isolated fanatics." + +"And there is also the matter of Pelton's daughter, and his son," +Cardon said. "We know, and Graves and Joyner know, and I assume that +Slade Gardner knows, that they can both read and write as well as any +Literate in the Fraternities. Suppose that got out between now and the +election?" + +"And that could not only hurt Pelton, but it would expose the work +we've been doing in the schools," Lancedale added. "And even inside +the Fraternities, that would raise the devil. Joyner and Graves don't +begin to realize how far we've gone with that. They could kick up a +simply hideous row about it!" + +"And if Pelton found out that his kids are Literates--_Woooo!_" Cardon +grimaced. "Or what we've been doing to him. I hope I'm not around when +that happens. I'm beginning to like the cantankerous old bugger." + +"I was afraid of that," Lancedale said. "Well, don't let it interfere +with what you have to do. Remember, Frank; the Plan has to come first, +always." + +He walked with O'Reilly to the street door, talking about tomorrow's +election; after shaking hands with the saloon keeper, he crossed the +sidewalk and stepped onto the beltway, moving across the strips until +he came to the twenty m.p.h. strip. The tall office buildings of upper +Yonkers Borough marched away as he stood on the strip, appreciatively +puffing at Lancedale's cigar. The character of the street changed; the +buildings grew lower, and the quiet and fashionable ground-floor shops +and cafés gave place to bargain stores, their audio-advertisers +whooping urgently about improbable prices and offerings, and garish, +noisy, crowded bars and cafeterias blaring recorded popular music. +There was quite a bit of political advertising in evidence--huge +pictures of the two major senatorial candidates. He estimated that +Chester Pelton's bald head and bulldog features appeared twice for +every one of Grant Hamilton's white locks, old-fashioned spectacles +and self-satisfied smirk. + +Then he came to the building on which he had parked his 'copter, and +left the beltway, entering and riding up to the landing stage on the +helical escalator. There seemed to have been some trouble; about a +dozen Independent-Conservative storm troopers, in their white robes +and hoods, with the fiery-cross emblem on their breasts, were bunched +together, most of them with their right hands inside their bosoms, +while a similar group of Radical-Conservative storm troopers, with +their black sombreros and little black masks, stood watching them and +fingering the white-handled pistols they wore in pairs on their belts. +Between the two groups were four city policemen, looking acutely +unhappy. + +The group in the Lone Ranger uniforms, he saw, were standing in front +of a huge tri-dimensional animated portrait of Chester Pelton. As he +watched, the pictured candidate raised a clenched fist, and Pelton's +recorded and amplified voice thundered: + +"_Put the Literates in their place! Our servants, not our masters!_" + +He recognized the group leader of the Radical-Socialists--the masks +were too small to be more than token disguises--and beckoned to him, +at the same time walking toward his 'copter. The man in black with the +white-handled pistols followed him, spurs jingling. + +"Hello, Mr. Cardon," he said, joining him. "Nothing to it. We got a +tip they were coming to sabotage Big Brother, over there. Take out our +sound-recording, and put in one of their own, like they did over in +Queens, last week. The town clowns got here in time to save +everybody's face, so there wasn't any shooting. We're staying put till +they go, though." + +"_Put the Literates in their place! Our servants, not our masters!_" +the huge tridianimate bellowed. + +Over in Queens, the Independents had managed to get at a similar +tridianimate, had taken out the record, and had put in one: _I am a +lying fraud! Vote for Grant Hamilton and liberty and sound +government!_ + +"Smart work, Goodkin," he approved. "Don't let any of your boys start +the gunplay. The city cops are beginning to get wise to who's going to +win the election, tomorrow, but don't antagonize them. But if any of +those Ku Kluxers tries to pull a gun, don't waste time trying to wing +him. Just hold on to that fiery something-or-other on his chest and +let him have it, and let the coroner worry about him." + +"Yeah. With pleasure," Goodkin replied. "You know, that nightshirt +thing they wear is about the stupidest idea for a storm-troop uniform +I ever saw. Natural target in a gunfight, and in a rough-and-tumble it +gets them all tangled up. Ah, there go a couple of coppers to talk to +them; that's what they've been waiting on. Now they can beat it +without looking like they been run out by our gang." + +Cardon nodded. "Tell your boys to stay around for a while; they may +expect you to leave right after they do, and then they'll try to slip +back. You did a good job; got here promptly. Be seeing you, Goodkin." + +He climbed into his own 'copter and started the motor. + +"_Put the Literates in their place!_" the tri-dimensional colossus +roared triumphantly after the retreating Independents. "_Our servants, +not our masters!_" + + * * * * * + +At eight thousand, he got the 'copter onto the lower Manhattan beam +and relaxed. First of all, he'd have to do something about answering +Slade Gardner's telecast propaganda. That stuff was dangerous. The +answer ought to go on the air by noon, and should be stepped up +through the afternoon. First as a straight news story; Elliot Mongery +had fifteen minutes, beginning at 1215--no, that wouldn't do. +Mongery's sponsor for that time was Atomflame Heaters, and Atomflame +was a subsidiary of Canada Northwest Fissionables, and Canada +Northwest was umbilicus-deep in that Kettle River lease graft that +Pelton had sworn to get investigated as soon as he took office. +Professional ethics wouldn't allow Mongery to say anything in Pelton's +behalf on Atomflame's time. Well, there was Guthrie Parham, he came on +at 1245, and his sponsor was all right. He'd call Parham and tell him +what he wanted done. + +[Illustration:] + +The buzzer warned him that he was approaching the lower Manhattan +beacon; he shifted to manual control, dropped down to the +three-thousand-foot level, and set his selector beam for the signal +from Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise. Down toward the tip of the island, +in the section that had been rebuilt after that Stalin Mark XV +guided missile had gotten through the counter-rocket defenses in 1987, +he could see the quadrate cross of his goal, with public landing +stages on each of the four arms, and the higher central block with its +landing stage for freight and store personnel. Above the four public +stages, helicopters swarmed like May flies--May flies which had +mutated and invented ritual or military drill or choreography--coming +in in four streams to the tips of the arms and rising vertically from +the middle. There was about ten times the normal amount of traffic for +this early in the morning. He wondered, briefly, then remembered, and +cursed. That infernal sale! + +Grudgingly, he respected Russell Latterman's smartness, and in +consequence, the ability of Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves in +selecting a good agent to plant in Pelton's store. Latterman gave a +plausible impersonation of the Illiterate businessman, loyal Prime +Minister of Pelton's commercial empire, Generalissimo in the perpetual +war against Macy & Gimbel's. From that viewpoint, the sale was +excellent business--Latterman had gotten the jump on all the other +department stores for the winter fashions and fall sports trade. He +had also turned the store into a madhouse at the exact time when +Chester Pelton needed to give all his attention to the election. + +Pressing the button that put on his private recognition signal, he +rose above the incoming customers and began to drop toward the +private landing stage, circling to get a view of the other four +stages. Maybe the sale could be turned to some advantage, at that. A +free souvenir with each purchase, carrying a Pelton-for-Senator +picture-message-- + +He broke off, peering down at the five-hundred-foot-square landing stage +above the central block, then brought his 'copter swooping down rapidly. +The white-clad figures he had seen swarming up the helical escalator +were not wearing the Ku Klux robes of the Independent-Conservative storm +troops, as he had first feared--they were in Literate smocks, and among +them were the black leather jackets and futuristic helmets of their +guards. They were led, he saw, by Stephen S. Bayne, the store's Chief +Literate; with him were his assistant, Literate Third Class Roger B. +Feinberg, and the novices carrying books and briefcases and cased +typewriters, and the guards, and every Literate employed in the store. +Four or five men in ordinarily vivid-colored business suits were +obviously expostulating about something. As he landed and threw back the +transparent canopy, he could hear a babel of voices, above which +Feinberg was crying: "Unfair! Unfair! Unfair to Organized Literacy!" + +He jumped out and hurried over. + + * * * * * + +"But you simply can't!" a white-haired man in blue-and-orange business +clothes was protesting. "If you do, the Associated Fraternities'll be +liable for losses we incur; you know that!" + +Bayne, his thin face livid with anger--and also, Cardon noticed, with +what looked like a couple of fresh bruises--ignored him. Feinberg +broke off his chant of "Unfair! Unfair!" long enough to answer: + +"A Literate First Class has been brutally assaulted by the Illiterate +owner of this store. Literate service for this store is, accordingly, +being discontinued, pending a decision by the Grand Council of the +local Fraternity." + +Cardon grabbed the blue-and-orange clad man and dragged him to one +side. + +"What happened, Hutschnecker?" he demanded. + +"They're walking out on us," Hutschnecker told him, unnecessarily. +"The boss had a fight with Bayne; knocked him down a couple of times. +Bayne tried to pull his tablet gun, and I grabbed it away from him, +and somebody else grabbed Pelton before he could pull his, and a +couple of store cops got all the other Literates in the office +covered. Then Bayne put on the general-address system and began +calling out the Literates--" + +"Yes, but why did Pelton beat Bayne up?" + +"Bayne made a pass at Miss Claire. I wasn't there when it happened; +she came into the office--" + +Cardon felt his face tighten into a frown of perplexity. That wasn't +like Literate First Class Stephen S. Bayne. He made quite a hobby of +pinching salesgirls behind the counter which was one thing; the boss' +daughter was quite another. + +"Where's Latterman?" he asked, looking around. + +"Down in the office, with the others, trying to help Mr. Pelton. He's +had another of those heart attacks--" + +Cardon swore and ran for the descending escalator, running down the +rotating spiral to the executive floor and jumping off into the +gawking mob of Illiterate clerks crowded in the open doors of Pelton's +office. He hit and shoved and elbowed and cursed them out of the way, +and burst into the big room beyond, and then, for a moment, he was +almost sorry he had come. + +Pelton was slumped in his big relaxer chair, his face pale and twisted +in pain, his breath coming in feeble gasps. His daughter was beside +him, her blond head bent over him; Russell Latterman was standing to +one side, watching intently. For an instant, Cardon was reminded of a +tomcat watching a promising mouse hole. + +"Claire!" Cardon exploded, "give him a nitrocaine bulb. Why are you +all just standing around?" + +Claire turned. "There are none," she said, looking at him with +desperate eyes. "The box is empty; he must have used them all." + +He shot a quick glance at Latterman, catching the sales manager before +he could erase a look of triumph from his face. Things began to add +up. Latterman, of course, was the undercover man for Wilton Joyner and +Harvey Graves and the rest of the Conservative faction at Literates' +Hall, just as he, himself, was Lancedale's agent. Obsessed with +immediate advantages and disadvantages, the Joyner-Graves faction +wanted to secure the re-election of Grant Hamilton, and the way things +had been going in the past two months, only Chester Pelton's death +could accomplish that. Latterman had probably thrown out Pelton's +nitrocaine capsules and then put Bayne up to insulting Pelton's +daughter, knowing that a fit of rage would bring on another heart +attack, which could be fatal without the medicine. + +"Well, send for more!" + +"The prescription's in the safe," she said faintly. + +The office safe was locked, and only a Literate could open it. The +double combination was neatly stenciled on the door, the numbers +spelled out as words and the letters spelled in phonetic equivalents. +All three of them--himself, Claire, and Russell Latterman--could read +them. None of them dared admit it. Latterman was fairly licking his +chops in anticipation. If Cardon opened the safe, Pelton's campaign +manager stood convicted as a Literate. If Claire opened it, the gaggle +of Illiterate clerks in the doorway would see, and speedily spread +the news, that the daughter of the arch-foe of Literacy was herself +able to read. Maybe Latterman hadn't really intended his employer to +die. Maybe this was the situation he had really intended to contrive. + +Chester Pelton couldn't be allowed to die. If Grant Hamilton were +returned to the Senate, the long-range planning of William Lancedale +would suffer a crushing setback, and the public reaction would be +catastrophic. _The Plan comes first_, Lancedale had told him. He made +his decision, and then saw that he hadn't needed to make it. Claire +had straightened, left her father, crossed quickly to the safe, and +was kneeling in front of it, her back stiff with determination, her +fingers busy at the dials, her eyes going from them to the printed +combination and back again. She swung open the door, skimmed through +the papers inside, unerringly selected the prescription, and rose. + +"Here, Russ; go get it filled at once," she ordered. "And hurry!" + +Oh, no, you don't, Cardon thought. One chance is enough for you, Russ. +He snatched the prescription from her and turned to Latterman. + +"I'll get it," he told the sales manager. "You're needed for the sale; +stay on the job here." + +"But with the Literates walked out, we can't--" + +Cardon blazed: "Do I have to teach you your business? Have a sample of +each item set aside at the counter, and pile sales slips under it. +And for unique items, just detach the tag and put it with the sales +slip. Now get out of here, and get cracking with it!" He picked up the +pistol that had been taken from Pelton when he had tried to draw it on +Bayne, checking the chamber and setting the safety. "Know how to use +this?" he asked Claire. "Then hang onto it, and stay close to your +father. This wasn't any accident, it was a deliberate attempt on his +life. I'll have a couple of store cops sent in here; see that they +stay with you." + +He gave her no chance to argue. Pushing Latterman ahead of him, he +drove through the mob of clerks outside the door. + +"... Course she can; didn't you see her open the safe?" he heard. +"... Nobody but a Literate--" "Then she's a Literate, herself!" + +A couple of centuries ago, they would have talked like that if it had +been discovered that the girl were pregnant; a couple of centuries +before that, they would have been equally horrified if she had been +discovered to have been a Protestant, or a Catholic, or whatever the +locally unpopular religion happened to be. By noon, this would be all +over Penn-Jersey-York; coming on top of Slade Gardner's accusations-- + + * * * * * + +He ran up the spiral escalator, stumbling and regaining his footing as +he left it. Bayne and his striking Literates were all gone; he saw a +sergeant of Pelton's store police and went toward him, taking his +spare identity-badge from his pocket. + +"Here," he said, handing it to the sergeant. "Get another officer, and +go down to Pelton's office. Show it to Miss Pelton, and tell her I +sent you. There's been an attempt on Chester Pelton's life; you're to +stay with him. Use your own judgment, but don't let anybody, and that +definitely includes Russell Latterman, get at him. If you see anything +suspicious, shoot first and ask questions afterwards. What's your +name, sergeant?" + +"Coccozello, sir. Guido Coccozello." + +"All right. There'll be a medic or a pharmacist--a Literate, +anyhow--with medicine for Mr. Pelton. He'll ask for you, by name, and +mention me. And there'll be another Literate, maybe; he'll know your +name, and use mine. Hurry, now, sergeant." + +He jumped into his 'copter, pulled forward the plexiglass canopy, and +took off vertically to ten thousand feet, then, orienting himself, +swooped downward toward a landing stage on the other side of the East +River, cutting across traffic levels with an utter contempt for +regulations. + +The building on which he landed was one of the principal pharmacies; +he spiraled down on the escalator to the main floor and went directly +to the Literate in charge, noticing that he wore on his Sam Browne not +only the badges of retail-merchandising, pharmacist and graduate +chemist but also that of medic-in-training. Snatching a pad and pencil +from a counter, he wrote hastily: _Your private office, at once; +urgent and important._ + +Looking at it, the Literate nodded in recognition of Cardon's +Literacy. + +"Over this way, sir," he said, guiding Cardon to his small cubicle +office. + +"Here." Cardon gave him the prescription. "Nitrocaine bulbs. They're +for Chester Pelton; he's had a serious heart attack. He needs these +with all speed. I don't suppose I need tell you how many kinds of hell +will break loose if he dies now and the Fraternities are accused, as +the Illiterates' Organization will be sure to, of having had him +poisoned." + +"Who are you?" the Literate asked, taking the prescription and +glancing at it. "That,"--he gestured toward Cardon's silver-laced +black Mexican jacket--"isn't exactly a white smock." + +Cardon had his pocket recorder in his hand. He held it out, pressing a +concealed stud; the stylus-and-tablet insignia glowed redly on it for +a moment, then vanished. The uniformed Literate nodded. + +"Fill this exactly; better do it yourself, to make sure, and take it +over to Pelton's yourself. I see you have a medic-trainee's badge. Ask +for Sergeant Coccozello, and tell him Frank Cardon sent you." The +Literate, who had not recognized him before, opened his eyes at the +name and whistled softly. "And fix up a sedative to keep him quiet +for not less than four nor more than six hours. Let me use your +visiphone for a while, if you please." + +The man in the Literate smock nodded and hurried out. Cardon dialed +William R. Lancedale's private number. When Lancedale's thin, intense +face appeared on the screen, he reported swiftly. + +"The way I estimate it," he finished, "Latterman put Bayne up to +making a pass at the girl, after having thrown out Pelton's nitrocaine +bulbs. Probably told the silly jerk that Claire was pining away with +secret passion for him, or something. Maybe he wanted to kill Pelton; +maybe he just wanted this to happen." + +"I assume there's no chance of stopping a leak?" + +Cardon laughed with mirthless harshness. "That, I take it, was +rhetorical." + +"Yes, of course." Lancedale's face assumed the blank expression that +went with a pause for semantic re-integration. "Can you cover yourself +for about an hour?" + +"Certainly. 'Copter trouble. Visits to campaign headquarters. An +appeal on Pelton's behalf for a new crew of Literates for the store--" + +"Good enough. Come over. I think I can see a way to turn this to +advantage. I'm going to call for an emergency session of the Grand +Council this afternoon, and I'll want you sitting in on it; I want to +talk to you about plans now." He considered for a moment. "There's +too much of a crowd at O'Reilly's, now; come the church way." + +Breaking the connection, Cardon dialed again. A girl's face, over a +Literate Third Class smock, appeared in the screen; a lovely golden +voice chimed at him: + +"Mineola High School; good morning, sir." + +"Good morning. Frank Cardon here. Let me talk, at once, to your +principal, Literate First Class Prestonby." + + * * * * * + +Ralph Prestonby cleared his throat, slipped a master disk into the +recording machine beside his desk, and pressed the start button. + +"Dear Parent or Guardian," he began. "Your daughter, now a third-year +student at this school, has reached the age of eligibility for the +Domestic Science course entitled, 'How To Win and Hold a Husband.' +Statistics show that girls who have completed this valuable course are +sooner, longer, and happier married than those who have not enjoyed +its advantages. We recommend it most highly. + +"However, because of the delicate nature of some of the visual +material used, your consent is required. You can attach such consent +to this disk by running it for at least ten seconds after the sign-off +and then switching from 'Play' to 'Transcribe.' Kindly include your +full name, as well as your daughter's, and place your thumbprint on +the opposite side of the disk. Very sincerely yours, Literate First +Class Ralph C. Prestonby, Principal." + +He put the master disk in an envelope, checked over a list of names +and addresses of parents and girl students, and put that in also. He +looked over the winter sports schedule, and signed and thumbprinted +it. Then he loaded the recorder with his morning's mail, switched to +"Play," and started it. As he listened, he blew smoke rings across the +room and toyed with a dagger, made from a file, which had been thrown +down the central light-well at him a few days before. The invention of +the pocket recorder, which put a half-hour's conversation on a +half-inch disk, had done more to slow down business and promote inane +correspondence than anything since the earlier inventions of +shorthand, typewriters and pretty stenographers. Finally, he cleared +the machine, dumping the whole mess into a basket and carrying it out +to his secretary. + +"Miss Collins, take this infernal rubbish and have a couple of the +girls divide it between them, play it off, and make a digest of it," +he said. "And here. The sports schedule, and this parental-consent +thing on the husband-trapping course. Have them taken care of." + +"This stuff," Martha Collins said, poking at the pile of letter disks. +"I suppose about half of it is threats, abuse and obscenities, and the +other half is from long-winded bores with idiotic suggestions and +ill-natured gripes. I'll use that old tag line, again--'hoping you +appreciate our brevity as much as we enjoyed yours--'" + +"Yes. That'll be all right." He looked at his watch. "I'm going to +make a personal building-tour, instead of using the TV. The animals +are sort of restless, today. The election; the infantile compulsion to +take sides. If you need me for anything urgent, don't use oral call. +Just flash my signal, red-blue-red-blue, on the hall and classroom +screens. Oh, Doug!" + +Yetsko, his length of rubber hose under his arm, ambled out of +Prestonby's private office, stopping to stub out his cigarette. The +action reminded Prestonby that he still had his pipe in his mouth; he +knocked it out and pocketed it. Together, they went into the hall +outside. + +"Where to, first, captain?" Yetsko wanted to know. + +"Cloak-and-Dagger Department, on the top floor. Then we'll drop down +to the shops, and then up through Domestic Science and Business and +General Arts." + +"And back here. We hope," Yetsko finished. + + * * * * * + +They took a service elevator to the top floor, emerging into a +stockroom piled with boxes and crates and cases of sound records and +cans of film and stacks of picture cards, and all the other +impedimenta of Illiterate education. Passing through it to the other +end, Prestonby unlocked a door, and they went down a short hall, to +where ten or fifteen boys and girls had just gotten off a helical +escalator and were queued up at a door at the other end. There were +two Literate guards in black leather, and a student-monitor, with his +white belt and rubber truncheon, outside the door. + +Prestonby swore under his breath. He'd hoped they'd miss this, but +since they hadn't, there was nothing for it but to fall in at the tail +of the queue. One by one, the boys and girls went up, spoke briefly to +the guards and the student-monitor, and were passed through the door, +Each time, one of the guards had to open it with a key. Finally, it +was Prestonby's turn. + +"B, D, F, H, J, L, N, P, R, T, V, X, Y," he recited to the guardians +of the door. + +"A, C, E, G, I, K, M, O, Q, S, U, W, Y," the monitor replied solemnly. +"The inkwell is dry, and the book is dusty." + +"But tomorrow, there will be writing and reading for all," Prestonby +answered. + +The guard with the key unlocked the door, and he and Yetsko went +through, into an utterly silent sound-proofed room, and from it into +an inner, noisy, room, where a recorded voice was chanting: + +"Hat--_huh-ah-tuh._ H-a-t. Box--_buh-oh-ksss_. B-o-x. +Gun--_guh-uh-nnn_. G-u-n. Girl--_guh-ih-rrr-lll_," while pictures were +flashed on a screen at the front, and words appeared under them. + +There were about twenty boys and girls, of the freshman-year +age-bracket at desk-seats, facing the screen. They'd started learning +the alphabet when school had opened in September; now they had gotten +as far as combining letters into simple words. In another month, +they'd be as far as diphthongs and would be initiated into the +mysteries of silent letters. Maybe sooner than that; he was finding +that children who had not been taught to read until their twelfth year +learned much more rapidly than the primary grade children in the +Literate schools. + +What he was doing here wasn't exactly illegal. It wasn't even against +the strict letter of Fraternity regulations. But it had to be done +clandestinely. What he'd have liked to have done would have been to +have given every boy and girl in English I the same instruction this +selected group was getting, but that would have been out of the +question. The public would never have stood for it; the police would +have had to intervene to prevent a riotous mob of Illiterates from +tearing the school down brick by brick, and even if that didn't +happen, the ensuing uproar inside the Fraternity would have blown the +roof off Literates' Hall. Even Lancedale couldn't have survived such +an explosion, and the body of Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby +would have been found in a vacant lot the next morning. Even many of +Lancedale's supporters would have turned on him in anger at this +sudden blow to the Fraternities' monopoly of the printed Word. + +So it had to be kept secret, and since adolescents in possession of a +secret are under constant temptation to hint mysteriously in the +presence of outsiders, this hocus-pocus of ritual and password and +countersign had to be resorted to. He'd been in conspiratorial work of +other kinds, and knew that there was a sound psychological basis for +most of what seemed, at first glance, to be mere melodramatic +claptrap. + +He and Yetsko passed on through a door across the room, into another +sound-proofed room. The work of soundproofing and partitioning the old +stockroom had been done in the last semester of his first year at +Mineola High, by members of the graduating class of building-trades +students, who had then gone their several ways convinced that they had +been working on a set of music-class practice rooms. The Board of +Education had never even found out about it. In this second room, a +Literate teacher, one of the Lancedale faction, had a reading class of +twenty-five or thirty. A girl was on her feet, with a book in her +hand, reading from it: + + "We are not sure of sorrow; + And joy was never sure; + Today will die tomorrow; + Time stoops to no man's lure; + And love, grown faint and fretful + With lips but half regretful + Sighs, and with eyes forgetful + Weeps that no loves endure." + +Then she handed the book--it was the only copy--to the boy sitting in +front of her, and he rose to read the next verse. Prestonby, catching +the teacher's eye, nodded and smiled. This was a third-year class, of +course, but from h-a-t spells hat to Swinburne in three years was good +work. + +There were three other classes, a total of little over a hundred +students. There was no trouble; they were there for one purpose +only--to learn. He spoke with one of the teachers, whose class was +busy with a written exercise; he talked for a while to another whose +only duty at the moment was to answer questions and furnish help to a +small class who were reading silently from a variety of smuggled-in +volumes. + +"Only a hundred and twenty, out of five thousand," Yetsko said to him, +as they were dropping down in the elevator by which they had come. +"Think you'll ever really get anything done with them?" + +"I won't. Maybe they won't," he replied. "But the ones they'll teach +will. They're just a cadre; it'll take fifty years before the effects +are really felt. But some day--" + +The shops--a good half of the school was trades-training--were noisy +and busy. Here Prestonby kept his hand on his gas-projector, and +Yetsko had his rubber hose ready, either to strike or to discard in +favor of his pistol. The instructors were similarly on the alert and +ready for trouble--he had seen penitentiaries where the guards took it +easier. Carpentry and building trades. Machine shop. Welding. 'Copter +and TV repair shops--he made a minor and relatively honest graft +there, from the sale of rebuilt equipment. Even an atomic-equipment +shop, though there was nothing in the place that would excite a Geiger +more than the instructor's luminous-dial watch. + +Domestic Science--Home Decorating, Home Handicrafts, Use of Home +Appliances, Beautician School, Charm School. He and Yetsko sampled the +products of the Cooking School, intended for the cafeteria, and found +them edible if uninspired. + +Business--classes in recording letters, using Illiterate +business-machines, preparing Illiterate cards for same, filing +recordings--always with the counsel, "When in doubt, consult a +Literate." + +General Arts--Spanish and French, from elaborate record players, the +progeny of the old Twentieth Century Linguaphone. English, with +recorded-speech composition, enunciation training, semantics, and what +Prestonby called English Illiterature. The class he visited was +drowsing through one of the less colorful sections of "Gone With The +Wind." World History, with half the students frankly asleep through an +audio-visual on the Feudal System, with planted hints on how nice a +revival of same would be, and identifying the clergy of the Middle +Ages with the Fraternities of Literates. American History, with the +class wide awake, since Custer's Massacre was obviously only moments +away. + +"Wantta bet one of those little cherubs doesn't try to scalp another +before the day's out?" Yetsko whispered. + +Prestonby shook his head. "No bet. Remember that film on the Spanish +Inquisition, that we had to discontinue?" + +It was then that the light on the classroom screen, which had been +flickering green and white, suddenly began flashing Prestonby's +wanted-at-office signal. + + * * * * * + +Prestonby found Frank Cardon looking out of the screen in his private +office. The round, ordinarily cheerful, face was serious, but the +innocent blue eyes were as unreadable as ever. He was wearing one of +the new Mexican _charro_-style jackets, black laced with silver. + +"I can't see all your office, Ralph," he said as Prestonby approached. +"Are you alone?" + +"Doug Yetsko's all," Prestonby said, and, as Cardon hesitated, added: +"Don't be silly, Frank; he's my bodyguard. What could I be in that he +wouldn't know all about?" + +Cardon nodded. "Well, we're in a jam up to here." A handwave conveyed +the impression that the sea of troubles had risen to his chin. He +spoke at some length, describing the fight between Chester Pelton and +Stephen S. Bayne, the Literate strike at Pelton's Purchasers' +Paradise, Pelton's heart attack, and the circumstances of Claire's +opening the safe. "So you see," he finished. "Maybe Latterman tried to +kill Pelton, maybe he just tried to do what he did. I can't take +chances either way." + +Prestonby thought furiously. "You say Claire's alone at the store with +her father?" + +"And a couple of store cops, sterling characters with the hearts of +lions and the brains of goldfish," Cardon replied. "And Russ +Latterman, and maybe four or five Conservative goons he's managed to +infiltrate into the store." + +Prestonby was still thinking, aloud, now. "Maybe they did mean to kill +Pelton; in that case, they'll try again. Or maybe they only wanted to +expose Claire's literacy. It's hard to say what else they'd try--maybe +kidnap her, to truth-drug her and use her as a guest-artist on a +Conservative telecast. I'm going over to the store, now." + +"That's a good idea, Ralph. If you hadn't thought of it, I was going +to suggest it. Land on the central stage, ask for Sergeant Coccozello +of the store police, and give my name. Even aside from everything +else, it'd be a good idea to have somebody there who can read and +dares admit it, till a new crew of Literates can get there. You were +speaking about the possibility of kidnaping; how about the boy? Ray?" + +Prestonby nodded. "I'll have him come here to my office, and stay +there till I get back; I'll have Yetsko stay with him." He turned to +where the big man in black leather stood guard at the door. "Doug, go +get Ray Pelton and bring him here. Check with Miss Collins for where +he'd be, now." He turned back to the screen. "Anything else, Frank?" + +"Isn't that enough?" the brewer-Literate demanded. "I'll call you at +the store, after a while. 'Bye." + +The screen darkened as Cardon broke the connection. Prestonby got to +his feet, went to his desk, and picked up a pipe, digging out the +ashes from the bowl with an ice pick that one of the teachers had +taken from a sixteen-year-old would-be murderer. He checked his tablet +gun, made sure that there was an extra loaded clip in the holster, and +got two more spare clips from the arms locker. Then, to make sure, he +called Pelton's store, talking for a while to the police sergeant +Cardon had mentioned. By the time he was finished, the door opened and +Yetsko ushered Ray Pelton in. + +"What's happened?" the boy asked. "Doug told me that the Senator ... +my father ... had another heart attack." + +"Yes, Ray. I don't believe he's in any great danger. He's at the +store, resting in his office." He went on to tell the boy what had +happened, exactly and in full detail. He was only fifteen, but +already he had completed the four-year reading course and he could +think a great deal more logically than seventy per cent of the people +who were legally entitled to vote. Ray listened seriously, and proved +Prestonby's confidence justified by nodding. + +"Frame-up," he said succinctly. "Stinks like a glue factory of a +put-up job. Something's going to happen to Russ Latterman, one of +these days." + +"I think you'd better let Frank Cardon take care of him, Ray," +Prestonby advised. "I think there are more angles to this than he told +me. Now, I'm going over to the store. Somebody's got to stay with +Claire. I want you to stay here, in this room. If anybody sends you +any message supposed to be from me, just ignore it. It'll be a trap. +If I want to get in touch with you, I'll call you, with vision-image." + +"Mean somebody might try to kidnap me, or Claire, to force the Senator +to withdraw, or something?" Ray asked, his eyes widening. + +"You catch on quickly, Ray," Prestonby commended him. "Doug, you stay +with Ray till I get back. Don't let him out of your sight for an +instant. At noon, have Miss Collins get lunches for both of you sent +up; if I'm not back by fifteen-hundred, take him to his home, and stay +with him there." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration:] + +For half an hour, Frank Cardon made a flying tour of +Radical-Socialist borough headquarters. Even at the Manhattan +headquarters, which he visited immediately after his talk with +Prestonby, the news had already gotten out. The atmosphere of +optimistic triumph which had undoubtedly followed Mongery's telecast +and his report on the Trotter Poll, had evaporated. The Literate +clerical help was gathered in a tight knot, obviously a little +worried, and just as obviously enjoying the reaction. In smaller and +constantly changing groups, the volunteers, the paid helpers, the +dirt-squirters, the goon gangs, gathered, talking in worried or +frightened or angry voices. When Cardon entered and was recognized, +there was a concerted movement toward him. His two regular bodyguards, +both on leave from the Literate storm troops, moved quickly to range +themselves on either side of him. With a gesture, he halted the +others. + +"Hold it!" he called. "I know what you're worried about. I was there +when it happened, and saw everything." + +He paused, to let them assimilate that, and continued: "Now get this, all +of you! Our boss, and--_if he lives_--our next senator, was the victim of +a deliberate murder attempt, by Literate First Class Bayne, who threw out +his supply of nitrocaine bulbs and then goaded him into a heart attack +which, except for his daughter, would have been fatal. Claire Pelton +deserves the deepest gratitude of every Radical-Socialist in the state. +She's a smart girl, and she saved the life of her father and our leader. + +"But--she is _not_ a Literate!" he cried loudly. "All she did was +something any of you could have done--something I've done, myself, so +that I won't be locked out of my own safe and have to wait for a +Literate to come and open, it for me. She simply kept her eye on the +Literates who were opening the safe, and learned the combination from +the positions to which they turned the dial. And you believe, on the +strength of that, that she's a Literate? The next thing, you'll be +believing that professional liar of a Slade Gardner. And you call +yourselves politicians!" He fairly gargled obscenities. + +Looking around, he caught sight of a pair who seemed something less +than impressed with his account of it. Joe West, thick-armed, +hairy-chested, blue-jowled; Horace Yingling, thin and gangling. They +weren't Radical-Socialist party people; they were from the Political +Action Committee of the Consolidated Illiterates Organization, and +their slogan was simpler and more to the point than Chester +Pelton's--the only good Literate is a dead Literate. He tensed himself +and challenged them directly. + +"Joe; Horace. How about you? Satisfied the Pelton girl isn't a +Literate, now?" + +Yingling looked at West, and West looked back at him questioningly. +Evidently the _suavitor in modo_ was Yingling's province, and the +_fortior in re_ was West's. + +"Yeh, sure, Mr. Cardon," Yingling said dubiously. "Now that you +explain it, we see how it was." + + * * * * * + +It was worse than that in some of the other boroughs. One fanatic, +imagining that Cardon himself was a crypto-Literate, drew a gun. +Cardon's guards disarmed him and beat him senseless. At another +headquarters, some character was circulating about declaring that not +only Claire Pelton but her younger brother, Ray, as well, were +Literates. Cardon's two men hustled him out of the building, and, +after about twenty minutes, returned alone. Cardon hoped that the body +would not be found until after the polls closed, the next day. + +Finally, leaving his guards with the 'copter at a public landing +stage, he made his way, by devious routes, to William R. Lancedale's +office, and found Lancedale at his desk, seeming not to have moved +since he had showed his agent out earlier in the day. + +"Well, we're in a nice puddle of something-or-other," Cardon greeted +him. "On top of that Gardner telecast, this morning--" + +"Guthrie Parham's taking care of that, and everything's going to be +done to ridicule Gardner," Lancedale told him. "And even this business +at the store can be turned to some advantage. Before we're through, we +may gain more votes than we lose for Pelton. And we had an informal +meeting--Joyner for Retail Merchandising, Starke for Grievance +Settlements, and four or five others including myself, to make up a +quorum. We had Bayne in, and heard his story of it, and we got a +report from one of our stoolies in the store. Bayne thought he was +due for a commendation; instead, he got an eat-out. Of course, it was +a fact that Pelton'd hit him, and we can't have Literates punched +around, regardless of provocation. So we voted to fine Pelton ten +million for beating Bayne up, and to award him ten million for losses +resulting from unauthorized withdrawal of Literate services. We +ordered a new crew of Literates to the store, and we exiled Bayne to +Brooklyn, to something called Stillman's Used Copter and Junk Bazaar. +For the next few months, the only thing he'll find that's round and +pinchable will be second-hand tires. But don't be too hard on him; I +think he did us a favor." + +"You mean, starting a rift between Pelton and the Consolidated +Illiterates' Organization, which we can widen after the election?" + +"No. I hadn't thought of it that way, Frank," Lancedale smiled. "It's +an idea worth keeping in mind, and we'll exploit it, later. What I was +thinking about was the more immediate problem of the election--" + +The buzzer on Lancedale's desk interrupted, and a voice came out of +the commo box: + +"Message, urgent and private, sir. Source named as Sforza." + +Cardon recognized the name. Maybe the Independent-Conservatives have +troubles, too, he thought hopefully. Then Lancedale's video screen +became the frame for an almost unbelievably commonplace set of +features. + +"Sforza, sir," the man in the screen said. "Sorry I'm late, but I was +able to get out of the building only a few minutes ago, and I had to +make sure I wasn't wearing a tail. I have two new facts. First, the +Conservatives have been bringing storm troops in from outside, from +Philadelphia, and from Wilkes-Scranton, and from Buffalo. They are +being concentrated in lower Manhattan, in plain clothes, with only +concealed weapons, and carrying their hoods folded up under their +coats. Second, I overheard a few snatches of conversation between two +of the Conservative storm troop leaders, as follows: '... Start it in +China ... thirteen-thirty,' and '... Important to make it appear +either spontaneous or planned for business motives.'" + +"Try to get us more information, as quickly as possible," Lancedale +directed. "Obviously, we should know, by about thirteen hundred, +what's being planned." + +"Right, sir." Lancedale's spy at Independent-Conservative headquarters +nodded and vanished from the screen. + +"What does it sound like to you, Frank?" Lancedale asked. + +"China is obviously a code-designation for some place in downtown +Manhattan, where the Conservative goon gangs are being concentrated. +The only thing I can say is that it probably is not Chinatown. They'd +either say 'Chinatown' and not 'China,' or they would use some +code-designation that wasn't so close to the actual name," Cardon +considered. "What they're going to start, at thirteen-thirty, which is +only two hours and a half from now, is probably some kind of a riot." + +"A riot which could arise from business motives," Lancedale added. +"That sounds like the docks, or the wholesale district, or the garment +district, or something like that." He passed his hand rapidly over the +photoelectric eye of the commo box. "Get me Major Slater," he said; +and, a little later, "Major, get a platoon out to Long Island, to +Chester Pelton's home; have the place searched for possible booby +traps, and maintain guard there till further notice. You'll have no +trouble with the servants, they're all in our pay. That platoon must +not, repeat not, wear uniform or appear to have any connection with +the Fraternities. Put another platoon in Pelton's store. Concealed +weapons, and plain clothes. They should carry their leather helmets in +shopping bags, and roam about in the store, ostensibly shopping. And a +full company, uniformed and armed with heavy weapons, alerted and +ready for immediate 'copter movement." He went on to explain about the +intelligence report and the conclusions drawn from it. The guards +officer repeated back his instructions, and Lancedale broke the +connection. + +"Now, Frank," he said, "I told you that this revelation of Claire +Pelton's Literacy can be turned to our advantage. There's to be a full +Council meeting at thirteen hundred. Here's what I estimate Joyner and +Graves will try to do, and here's what I'm going to do to counter +it--" + + * * * * * + +A couple of men in the maroon uniform of Pelton's store police were +waiting as Prestonby's 'copter landed on the top stage; one of them +touched his cap-visor with his gas-billy in salute and said: "Literate +Prestonby? Miss Pelton is expecting you; she's in her father's office. +This way, if you please, sir." + +He had hoped to find her alone, but when he entered the office, he saw +five or six of the store personnel with her. Since opening her +father's safe, she had evidently dropped all pretense of Illiteracy; +there was a mass of papers spread on the big desk, and she was +referring from one to another of them with the deft skill of a regular +Fraternities Literate, while the others watched in fascinated horror. + +"Wait a moment, Mr. Hutschnecker," she told the white-haired man in +the blue and orange business suit with whom she had been talking, and +laid the printed price-schedule down, advancing to meet him. + +"Ralph!" she greeted him. "Frank Cardon told me you were coming. I--" + +For a moment, he thought of the afternoon, over two years ago, when +she had entered his office at the school, and he had recognized her as +the older sister of young Ray Pelton. + +"Professor Prestonby," she had begun, accusingly, "you have been +teaching my brother, Raymond Pelton, to read!" + +He had been prepared for that; had known that sooner or later there +would be some minor leak in the security screen around the classrooms +on the top floor. + +"My dear Miss Pelton," he had protested pleasantly. "I think you've +become overwrought over nothing. This pretense to Literacy is a phase +most boys of Ray's age pass through; they do it just as they play +air-pirates or hi-jackers a few years earlier. The usual trick is to +memorize something heard from a record disk, and then pretend to read +it from print." + +"Don't try to kid me, professor. I know that Ray can read. I can prove +it." + +"And supposing he has learned a few words," he had parried. "Can you +be sure I taught him? And if so, what had you thought of doing about +it? Are you going to expose me as a corrupter of youth?" + +"Not unless I have to," she had replied coolly. "I'm going to +blackmail you, professor. I want you to teach me to read, too." + +Now, with this gang of her father's Illiterate store officials +present, a quick handclasp and a glance were all they could exchange. + +"How is he, Claire?" he asked. + +"Out of danger, for the present. There was a medic here, who left just +before you arrived. He brought nitrocaine bulbs, and gave father +something to make him sleep. He's lying down, back in his rest room." +She led him to a door at the rear of the office and motioned him to +enter, following him. "He's going to sleep for a couple of hours, +yet." + +The room was a sort of bedroom and dressing room, with a miniscule +toilet and shower beyond. Pelton was lying on his back, sleeping; his +face was pale, but he was breathing easily and regularly. Two of the +store policemen, a sergeant and a patrolman, were playing cards on the +little table, and the patrolman had a burp gun within reach. + +"All right, sergeant," Claire said. "You and Gorman go out to the +office. Call me if anything comes up that needs my attention, in the +next few minutes." + +The sergeant started to protest. Claire cut him off. + +"There's no danger here. This Literate can be trusted; he's a friend +of Mr. Cardon's. Works at the brewery. It's all right." + +The two rose and went out, leaving the door barely ajar. Prestonby and +Claire, like a pair of marionettes on the same set of strings, cast a +quick glance at the door and then were in each other's arms. Chester +Pelton slept placidly as they kissed and whispered endearments. + +It was Claire who terminated the embrace, looking apprehensively at +her slumbering father. + +"Ralph, what's it all about?" she asked. "I didn't even know that you +and Frank Cardon knew each other, let alone that he had any idea about +us." + +Prestonby thought furiously, trying to find a safe path through the +tangle of Claire Pelton's conflicting loyalties, trying to find a path +between his own loyalties and his love for her, wondering how much it +would be safe to tell her. + +"And Cardon's gone completely cloak-and-dagger-happy," she continued. +"He's talking about plots against my father's life, and against me, +and--" + +"A lot of things are going on under cloaks, around here," he told her. +"And under Literate smocks, and under other kinds of costume. And a +lot of daggers are out, too. You didn't know Frank Cardon was a +Literate, did you?" + +Her eyes widened. "I thought I was Literate enough to spot Literacy in +anybody else," she said. "No, I never even suspected--" + +Somebody rapped on the door. "Miss Pelton," the sergeant's voice +called. "Visiphone call from Literates' Hall." + +Prestonby smiled. "I'll take it, if you don't mind," he said. "I'm +acting-chief-Literate here, now, I suppose." + +She followed him as he went out into Pelton's office. When he snapped +on the screen, a young man in a white smock, with the Fraternities +Executive Section badge, looked out of it. He gave a slight start when +he saw Prestonby. + +"Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby, acting voluntarily for +Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise during emergency," he said. + +"Literate First Class Armandez, Executive Section," the man in the +screen replied. "This call is in connection with the recent attack of +Chester Pelton upon Literate First Class Bayne." + +"Continue, understanding that we admit nothing," Prestonby told him. + +"An extemporary session of the Council has found Pelton guilty of +assaulting Literate Bayne, and has fined him ten million dollars," +Armandez announced. + +"We enter protest," Prestonby replied automatically. + +"Wait a moment, Literate. The Council has also awarded Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise damages to the extent of ten million dollars, for +losses incurred by suspension of Literate service, and voted censure +against Literate Bayne for ordering said suspension without consent of +the Council. Furthermore, a new crew of Literates, with their novices, +guards, et cetera, is being sent at once to your store. Obviously, +neither the Fraternities, nor Pelton's, nor the public, would be +benefitted by returning Literate Bayne or any of his crew; he has been +given another assignment." + +"Thank you. And when can we expect this new crew of Literates?" +Prestonby asked. + +The man in the screen consulted his watch. "Probably inside of an +hour. We've had to do some re-shuffling; you know how these things are +handled. And if you'll pardon me, Literate; just what are you doing at +Pelton's? I understood that you were principal of Mineola High +School." + +"That's a good question." Prestonby hastily assessed the circumstances +and their implications. "I'd suggest that you ask it of my superior, +Literate Lancedale, however." + +The Literate in the screen blinked; that was the equivalent, for him, +of anybody else's jaw dropping to his midriff. + +"Well! A pleasure, Literate. Good day." + + * * * * * + +"Miss Pelton!" The man in the blue-and-orange suit was still trying to +catch her attention. "Where are we going to put that stuff? Russ +Latterman's out in the store, somewhere, and I can't get in touch with +him." + +"What did you say it was?" she replied. + +"Fireworks, for the Peace Day trade. We want to get it on sale about +the middle of the month." + +"This was a fine time to deliver them. Peace Day isn't till the Tenth +of December. Put them down in the fireproof vault." + +"That place is full of photographic film, and sporting ammunition, and +other merchandise; stuff we'll have to draw out to replace stock on +the shelves during the sale," the Illiterate objected. + +"The weather forecast for the next couple of days is fair," Prestonby +reminded her. "Why not just pile the stuff on the top stage, beyond +the control tower, and put up warning signs?" + +The man--Hutschnecker, Prestonby remembered hearing Claire call +him--nodded. + +"That might be all right. We could cover the cases with tarpaulins." + +A buzzer drew one of the Illiterates to a handphone. He listened for a +moment, and turned. + +"Hey, there's a Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz down in Furs; she wants to +buy one of those mutated-mink coats, and she's only got half a million +bucks with her. How's her credit?" + +Claire handed Prestonby a black-bound book. "Confidential +credit-rating guide; look her up for us," she said. + +Another buzzer rasped, before Prestonby could find the entry on +Zydanowycz, H. Armytage; the Illiterate office worker, laying down one +phone, grabbed up another. + +"They're all outta small money in Notions; every son and his brother's +been in there in the last hour to buy a pair of dollar shoestrings +with a grand-note." + +"I'll take care of that," Hutschnecker said. "Wait till I call control +tower, and tell them about the fireworks." + +"How much does Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz want credit for?" Prestonby +asked. "The book says her husband's good for up to fifteen million, or +fifty million in thirty days." + +"Those coats are only five million," Claire said. "Let her have it; be +sure to get her thumbprint, though, and send it up here for +comparison." + +"Oh, Claire; do you know how we're going to handle this new Literate +crew, when they get here?" + +"Yes, here's the TO for Literate service." She tossed a big chart +across the desk to him. "I made a few notes on it; you can give it to +whoever is in charge." + + * * * * * + +It went on, like that, for the next hour. When the new Literate crew +arrived, Prestonby was delighted to find a friend, and a +fellow-follower of Lancedale, in charge. Considering that Retail +Merchandising was Wilton Joyner's section, that was a good omen. +Lancedale must have succeeded to an extraordinary degree in imposing +his will on the Grand Council. Prestonby found, however, that he +would need some time to brief the new chief Literate on the +operational details at the store. He was unwilling to bring Claire too +prominently into the conference, although he realized that it would be +a matter of half an hour, at the outside, before every one of the new +Literate crew would have heard about her Literate ability. If she'd +only played dumb, after opening that safe-- + +Finally, by 1300, the new Literates had taken over, and the sale was +running smoothly again. Latterman was somewhere out in the store, +helping them; Claire had lunch for herself and Prestonby sent up from +the restaurant, and for a while they ate in silence, broken by +occasional spatters of small-talk. Then she returned to the question +she had raised and he had not yet answered. + +"You say Frank Cardon's a Literate?" she asked. "Then what's he doing +managing the Senator's campaign? Fifth-columning?" + +He shook his head. "You think the Fraternities are a solid, +monolithic, organization; everybody agreed on aims and means, and +working together in harmony? That's how it's supposed to look, from +the outside. On the inside, though, there's a bitter struggle going on +between two factions, over policy and for control. One faction wants +to maintain the _status quo_--a handful of Literates doing the reading +and writing for an Illiterate public, and holding a monopoly on +Literacy. They're headed by two men, Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves. +Bayne was one of that faction." + +He paused, thinking quickly. If Lancedale had gotten the upper hand, +there was likely to be a revision of the Joyner-Graves attitude toward +Pelton. In that case, the less he said to incriminate Russell +Latterman, the better. Let Bayne be the villain, for a while, he +decided. + +"Bayne," he continued, "is one of a small minority of fanatics who +make a religion of Literacy. I believe he disposed of your father's +medicine, and then deliberately goaded him into a rage to bring on a +heart attack. That doesn't represent Joyner-Graves policy; it was just +something he did on his own. He's probably been disciplined for it, by +now. But the Joyner-Graves faction are working for your father's +defeat and the re-election of Grant Hamilton. + +"The other faction is headed by a man you've probably never heard of, +William R. Lancedale. I'm of his faction, and so is Frank Cardon. We +want to see your father elected, because the socialization of Literacy +would eventually put the Literates in complete control of the +government. We also want to see Literacy become widespread, eventually +universal, just as it was before World War IV." + +"But Wouldn't that mean the end of the Fraternities?" Claire asked. + +"That's what Joyner and Graves say. We don't believe so. And suppose +it did? Lancedale says, if we're so incompetent that we have to keep +the rest of the world in ignorance to earn a living, the world's +better off without us. He says that every oligarchy carries in it the +seeds of its own destruction; that if we can't evolve with the rest of +the world, we're doomed in any case. That's why we want to elect your +father. If he can get his socialized Literacy program adopted, we'll +be in a position to load the public with so many controls and +restrictions and formalities that even the most bigoted Illiterate +will want to learn to read. Lancedale says, a private monopoly like +ours is bad, but a government monopoly is intolerable, and the only +way the public can get rid of it would be by becoming Literates, +themselves." + +She glanced toward the door of Pelton's private rest room. + +"Poor Senator!" she said softly. "He hates Literacy so, and his own +children are Literates, and his program against Literacy is being +twisted against itself!" + +"But you agree that we're right and he's wrong?" Prestonby asked. "You +must, or you'd never have come to me to learn to read." + +"He's such a good father. I'd hate to see him hurt," she said. "But, +Ralph, you're my man. Anything you're for, I'm for, and anything +you're against, I'm against." + +He caught her hand, across the table, forgetful of the others in the +office. + +"Claire, now that everybody knows--" he began. + + * * * * * + +"_Top emergency! Top emergency!_" a voice brayed out of the alarm box +on the wall. "_Serious disorder in Department Thirty-two! Serious +disorder in Department Thirty-two!_" + +The voice broke off as suddenly as it had begun, but the box was not +silent. From it came a medley of shouts, curses, feminine screams and +splintering crashes. Prestonby and Claire were on their feet. + +"You have wall screens?" he asked. "How do they work? Like the ones at +school?" + +Claire twisted a knob until the number 32 appeared on a dial, and +pressed a button. On the screen, the Chinaware Department on the third +floor came to life in full sound and color. The pickup must have been +across an aisle from the box from whence the alarm had come; they +could see one of Pelton's Illiterate clerks lying unconscious under +it, and the handphone dangling at the end of its cord. The aisles were +full of jostling, screaming women, trampling one another and fighting +frantically to get out, and, among them, groups of three or four men +were gathered back to back. One such group had caught a store +policeman; three were holding him while a fourth smashed vases over +his head, grabbing them from a nearby counter. A pink dinner plate +came skimming up from the crowd, narrowly missing the wired TV pickup. +A moment later, a blue-and-white sugar bowl, thrown with better aim, +came curving at them in the screen. It scored a hit, and brought +darkness, though the bedlam of sound continued. + +[Illustration:] + +[Illustration:] + +Cardon looked at his watch as he entered the Council Chamber at +Literates' Hall, smoothing his smock hastily under his Sam Browne. +He'd made it with very little time to spare, before the doors would be +sealed and the meeting would begin. He'd been all over town, tracking +down that report of Sforza's; he'd even made a quick visit to +Chinatown, on the off chance that "China" had been used in an attempt +at the double concealment of the obvious, but, as he'd expected, he'd +found nothing. The people there hardly knew there was to be an +election. Accustomed for millennia to ideographs read only by experts, +they viewed the current uproar about Literacy with unconcern. + +At the door, he deposited his pocket recorder--no sound-recording +device was permitted, except the big audio-visual camera in front, +which made the single permanent record. Going around the room +counterclockwise to the seats of his faction, he encountered two other +Lancedale men: Gerald K. Toppington, of the Technological Section, +thin-faced, sandy-haired, balding; and Franklin R. Chernov, commander +of the local Literates' guards brigade, with his ragged gray mustache, +his horribly scarred face, and his outsize tablet-holster almost as +big as a mail-order catalogue. + +"What's Joyner-Graves trying to do to us, Frank?" Chernov rumbled +gutturally. + +"It's what we're going to do to them," Cardon replied. "Didn't the +chief tell you?" + +Chernov shook his head. "No time. I only got here fifteen minutes ago. +Chasing all over town about that tip from Sforza. Nothing, of course. +Nothing from Sforza, either. The thing must have been planned weeks +ago, whatever it is, and everybody briefed personally, and nothing on +disk or tape about it. But what's going to happen here? Lancedale +going to pull a rabbit out of his hat?" + +Cardon explained. Chernov whistled. "Man, that's no rabbit; that's a +full-grown Bengal tiger! I hope it doesn't eat us, by mistake." + +Cardon looked around, saw Lancedale in animated argument with a group +of his associates. Some of the others seemed to be sharing Chernov's +fears. + +"I have every confidence in the chief," Toppington said. "If his +tigers make a meal off anybody, it'll be--" He nodded in the direction +of the other side of the chamber, where Wilton Joyner, short, bald, +pompous, and Harvey Graves, tall and cadaverous, stood in a +Rosencrantz-Guildenstern attitude, surrounded by half a dozen of their +top associates. + +The Council President, Morehead, came out a little door onto the +rostrum and took his seat, pressing a button. The call bell began +clanging slowly. Lancedale, glancing around, saw Cardon and nodded. On +both sides of the chamber, the Literates began taking seats, and +finally the call bell stopped, and Literate President Morehead rapped +with his gavel. The opening formalities were hustled through. The +routine held-over business was rubber-stamped with hasty votes of +approval, even including the decisions of the extemporary meeting of +that morning on the affair at Pelton's. Finally, the presiding officer +rapped again and announced that the meeting was now open for new +business. + +At once, Harvey Graves was on his feet. + +"Literate President," he began, as soon as the chair had recognized +him, "this is scarcely _new_ business, since it concerns a problem, a +most serious problem, which I and some of my colleagues have brought +to the attention of this Council many times in the past--the problem +of Black Literacy!" He spat out the two words as though they were a +mouthful of poison. "Literate President and fellow Literates, if +anything could destroy our Fraternities, to which we have given our +lives' devotion, it would be the widespread tendency to by-pass the +Fraternities, the practice of Literacy by non-Fraternities people--" + +"We've heard all that before, Wilton!" somebody from the Lancedale +side called out. "What do you want to talk about that you haven't +gotten on every record of every meeting for the last thirty years?" + +"Why, this Pelton business," Graves snapped back at him. "You know +what I mean. Your own associates are responsible for it!" He turned +back to face the chair, and, with a surprising minimum of invective, +described the scene in which Claire Pelton had demonstrated her +Literacy. "And that's not all, brother Literates," he continued. +"Since then, I've been receiving reports from the Pelton store. Claire +Pelton has been openly doing the work of a Literate; going over the +store's written records, checking inventories, checking the credit +guide, handling the price lists--" + +"What's that got to do with Black Literacy?" Gerald Toppington +demanded. "Black Literacy is a term which labels the professional +practice of Literacy, for hire, by a non-Fraternity Literate, or +Literate service furnished for criminal or politically subversive +purposes, or the betrayal of a client by a Fraternity Literate. +There's nothing of the sort involved here. This girl, who does appear +to be Literate, is simply looking after the interests of her family's +business." + +"She was taught by a Literate, a Fraternities-member, under, to say +the very least, irregular circumstances, and without payment of any +fee. Any fee, that is, that the Fraternities can collect any +percentage on. And the Literate who taught her also taught her younger +brother, Ray Pelton, and this Literate, who is known to be her +lover--" + +"Suppose he is her lover, so what?" one of Lancedale's partisans +demanded. "You say, yourself, that she's a Literate. That ought to +remove any objection. Why, if she were to come forward and admit and +demonstrate her Literacy, there'd be no possible objection from the +Fraternities' viewpoint to her marrying young Prestonby." + +"And as for Prestonby's action in teaching Literacy to her and to her +brother," Cardon spoke up, "I think he deserves the thanks and +commendation of the Fraternities. He's put a period to four +generations of bigoted Illiterates." + +Wilton Joyner was on his feet. "Will Literate Graves yield for a +motion?" he asked. "Thank you, Harvey. Literate President, and brother +Literates: I yield to no man in my abhorrence of Black Literacy, or in +my detestation for the political principles of which Chester Pelton +has made himself the spokesman, but I deny that we should allow the +acts and opinions of the Illiterate parent to sway us in our +consideration of the Literate children. It has come to my notice, as +it has to Literate Graves', that this young woman, Claire Pelton, is +Literate to a degree that would be a credit to any Literate First +Class, and her brother can match his Literacy creditably against that +of any novice in our Fraternities. To show that we respect Literate +ability, wherever we find it; to show that we are not the monopolistic +closed-corporation our enemies accuse us of being; to show that we are +not animated by a vindictive hatred of anything bearing the name of +Pelton--I move, and ask that my motion be presented for seconding, +that Claire Pelton, and her brother, Raymond Pelton, be duly elected, +respectively, to the positions of Literate Third Class and Literate +Novice, as members of the Associated Fraternities of Literates!" + +From the Joyner-Graves side, there were dutiful cries of, "Yes! Yes! +Admit the young Peltons!" and also gasps of horrified surprise from +the rank-and-filers who hadn't been briefed on what was coming up. + +Lancedale was on his feet in an instant. "Literate President!" he +cried. "In view of the delicate political situation, and in view of +Chester Pelton's violent denunciation of our Fraternities--" + +"Literate Lancedale," the President objected. "The motion is not to be +debated until it has been properly seconded." + +"What does the Literate President think I'm doing?" Lancedale +retorted. "I second the motion!" + +Joyner looked at Lancedale in angry surprise, which gradually became +fearful suspicion. His stooge, who had already risen with a prepared +speech of seconding, simply gaped. + +"Furthermore," Lancedale continued, "I move an amendment to Literate +Joyner's motion. I move that the ceremony of the administration of the +Literates' Oath, and the investiture in the smock and insignia, be +carried out as soon as possible, and that an audio-visual recording be +made, and telecast this evening, before twenty-one hundred." + +Brigade commander Chernov, prodded by Cardon, jumped to his feet. + +"Excellent!" he cried. "I second the motion to amend the motion of +Literate Joyner." + +If there were such a thing as a bomb which would explode stunned +silence, Lancedale and Chernov had dropped such a bomb. Cardon could +guess how Joyner and Graves felt; they were now beginning to be afraid +of their own proposition. As for the Lancedale Literates, he knew how +many of them felt. He'd felt the same way, himself, when Lancedale had +proposed the idea. He got to his feet. + +"Literate President, brother Literates," he raised his voice. "I call +for an immediate vote on this amended motion, which I, personally, +endorse most heartily, and which I hope to see carried unanimously." + +"Now, wait a minute!" Joyner objected. "This motion ought to be +debated--" + +"What do you want to debate about it?" Chernov demanded. "You +presented it, didn't you?" + +"Well, I wanted to give the Council an opportunity to discuss it, as +typical of our problems in dealing with Black ... I mean, +non-Fraternities ... Literacy--" + +"You mean, you didn't know it was loaded!" Cardon told him. "Well, +that's your hard luck; we're going to squeeze the trigger!" + +"I withdraw the motion!" Joyner shouted. + +"Literate President," Lancedale said gently, his thin face lighting +with an almost saintly smile, "Literate Joyner simply cannot withdraw +his motion, now. It has been properly seconded and placed before the +house, and so has my own humble contribution to it. I demand that the +motion be acted upon." + +"Vote! Vote! Vote!" the Lancedale Literates began yelling. + +"I call on all my adherents to vote against this motion!" Joyner +shouted. + +"Now look here, Wilton!" Harvey Graves shouted, reddening with anger. +"You're just making a fool out of me. This was your idea, in the first +place! Do you want to smash everything we've ever done in the +Fraternities?" + +"Harvey, we can't go on with it," Joyner replied. He crossed quickly +to Graves' seat and whispered something. + +"For the record," Lancedale said sweetly, "our colleague, Literate +Joyner, has just whispered to Literate Graves that since I have +seconded his motion, he's now afraid of it. I think Literate Graves is +trying to assure him that my support is merely a bluff. For the +information of this body, I want to state categorically that it is +not, and that I will be deeply disappointed if this motion does not +pass." + +An elderly Literate on the Joyner-Graves side, an undersized man with +a bald head and a narrow mouth, was on his feet. He looked like an +aged rat brought to bay by a terrier. + +"I was against this fool idea from the start!" he yelled. "We've got +to keep the Illiterates down; how are we ever going to do that if we +go making Literates out of them? But you two thought you were being +smart--" + +"Shut up and sit down, you old jackass!" one of Joyner's people +shouted at him. + +"Shut up, yourself, Ginter," a hatchet-faced woman Literate from the +Finance Section squawked. + +Literate President Morehead, an amiable and ineffective maiden aunt in +trousers, pounded frantically with his gavel. "Order!" he fairly +screamed. "This is disgraceful!" + +"You can say that again!" Brigade commander Chernov boomed. "What do +you people over on the right think this is; an Illiterates' +Organization Political Action meeting?" + +"Vote! Vote!" Cardon bellowed. + +Literate President Morehead banged his gavel and, in a last effort, +started the call bell clanging. + +"The motion has been presented and seconded; the amendment has been +presented and seconded. It will now be put to a vote!" + +"Roll call!" Cardon demanded. Four or five other voices, from both +sides of the chamber, supported him. + +"The vote will be by roll call," Literate President Morehead agreed. +"Addison, Walter G." + +"Aye!" He was a subordinate of Harvey Graves. + +"Agostino, Pedro V." + +"Aye!" He was a Lancedale man. + +So it went on. Graves voted for the motion. Joyner voted against it. +All the Lancedale faction, now convinced that their leader had the +opposition on the run, voted loudly for it. + +"The vote has been one hundred and eighty-three for, seventy-two +against," Literate President Morehead finally announced. "The motion +is herewith declared carried. Literate Lancedale, I appoint you to +organize a committee to implement the said motion, at once." + + * * * * * + +Prestonby flung open the door of the rest room where Sergeant +Coccozello and his subordinate were guarding the unconscious Pelton. + +"Sergeant! Who's in charge of store police, now?" + +Coccozello looked blank for an instant. "I guess I am," he said. +"Lieutenant Dunbar's off on his vacation, in Mexico, and Captain +Freizer's in the hospital; he was taken sick suddenly last evening." + +Probably poisoned, Prestonby thought, making a mental note to find out +which hospital and get in touch with one of the Literate medics there. + +"Well, come out here, sergeant, and have a look around the store on +the TV. We have troubles." + +Coccozello could hear the noise that was still coming out of the +darkened screen. As he stepped forward, Claire got another pickup, +some distance from the one that had been knocked out. A mob of women +customers were surging away from the Chinaware Department, into +Glassware; they were running into the shopping crowd there, with +considerable disturbance. A couple of store police were trying to get +through the packed mass of humanity, and making slow going of it. +Coccozello swore and started calling on his reserves on one of the +handphones. + +"Wait a moment, sergeant," Prestonby stopped him. "Don't commit any of +your reserves down there. We're going to need them to hold the +executive country, up here. This is only the start of a general riot." + +"Who are you and what do you know about it?" Coccozello challenged. + +"Listen to him, Guido," Claire said. "He knows what he's doing." + +"Claire, you have some way of keeping a running count of the number of +customers in and out of the store, haven't you?" Prestonby asked. + +"Why, yes; here." She pointed to an indicator on Chester Pelton's +desk, where constantly changing numbers danced. + +"And don't you have a continuous check on sales, too? How do they +jibe?" + +"They don't; look. Sales are away below any expectation from the +number of customers, even allowing for shopping habits of a +bargain-day crowd. But what's that got to do--" + +Prestonby was back at the TV, shifting from pickup to pickup. + +"Look, sergeant, Claire. That isn't a normal bargain-day crowd, is it? +Look at those groups of men, three or four to a group, shifting +around, waiting for something to happen. This store's been +infiltrated by a big goon gang. That business in Chinaware's just the +start, to draw our reserves down to the third floor. Look at that, +now." + +He had a pickup on the twelfth floor, the floor just under the public +landing stages, and at the foot of the escalators leading to the +central executive block. + +"See how they're concentrating, there?" he pointed out. "In that +ladies' wear department, there are three men for every woman, and the +men are all drifting from counter to counter over in the direction of +our escalators." + +Coccozello swore again, feelingly. "Literate, you know your stuff!" he +said. "That fuss in China is just a feint; this is where they're +really going to hit. What do you think it is? Macy & Gimbel's trying +to bust up our sale, or politics?" + +Prestonby shrugged. "Take your choice. A competitor would concentrate +where your biggest volume of sale was going on, though; political +enemies would try to get up here, and that's what this gang's trying +to do." + +"He's absolutely right, Guido," Claire told the sergeant. "Do whatever +he tells you." + +Sergeant Coccozello looked at him, awaiting orders. + +"We can't commit our reserves in that Chinaware Department fight; we +need them up here. Where are they, now, and how many?" + +"Thirteen, counting myself and the man in there." He nodded toward the +room where Chester Pelton lay in drugged sleep. "In the squad room, on +the floor below." + +"And for the mob below to get up here?" + +"Two escalators, sir, northeast and southwest corners of office +country. And we got some new counters that Mr. Latterman had built, +that didn't get put out in time for the sale. We can use them to build +barricades, if we have to." + +"How about a 'copter attack on the roof?" + +Coccozello grinned. "I'd like to see that, now, Literate. We got +plenty of A-A equipment up there--four 7-mm machine guns, two 12-mm's, +and one 20-mm auto-cannon. We could hold off the State Guard with +that." + +"That isn't saying much, but they're not even that good. So it'll be +the escalators. Think, now, sergeant. Fires, burglary, holdups--" + +The sergeant's grin widened. "High-pressure fire hose, one at the head +of each escalator, and a couple more that can be dragged over from +other outlets. Say we put two men on each hose, lying down at the head +of the escalators. And we got plenty of firearms; we can arm some of +these clerks, up here--" + +"All right; do that. And put out an emergency call, by +inter-department telephone, not by public address, to floorwalkers +from the fifth floor down, to gather up all male clerks and other +store personnel in their departments, arm them with anything they can +find, and rush them to Chinaware. Tell them to shout 'Pelton!' when +they hit the mob, to avoid breaking each others' heads in the +confusion, and tell them they're expected to hold the Chinaware and +Glassware departments themselves, without any help from the store +police." + +"Why not?" Claire wanted to know. + +"That's how battles come to happen at the wrong time and place," +Prestonby told her. "Two small detachments collide, and each sends +back for re-enforcements, and the next thing anybody knows, there's a +full-size battle going on where nobody wants to fight one. We're going +to fight our main battle at the head of the escalators from the +twelfth floor." + +"You've done this sort of work before, Literate," Coccozello grinned. +"You talk like a storm-troop captain. What else?" + +"Well, so far, we've just been talking defense. We need to take the +offensive, ourselves." He glanced around. "Is there a freight elevator +from this block to the basement?" + +"Yeah. Wait till I see." Coccozello went to the TV-screen and dialed. +"Yeah, and the elevator's up here, too," he said. + +"Well, you take what men you can spare--a couple of your cops, and a +couple of the office crew--arm them with pistols, carbines, clubs, +whatever you please, and take them down to the basement. Gather up +all the warehouse gang, down there, and arm them. And as soon as you +get to the basement, send the elevator back up here. That's our life +line; we can't risk having it captured. You'll organize flying squads +to go up into the store from the basement. Bust up any trouble that +seems to be getting started, if you can, but your main mission will be +to rescue store police, Literates, Literates' guards, and store help, +and get them back to the basement. They'll be picked up from there and +brought up here on the elevator." He picked up a pad from a desk and +wrote a few lines on it. "Show this to any Literate you meet; get +Literate Hopkinson to countersign it for you, when you find him. Tell +him we want his whole gang up here as soon as possible." + +"How about getting help from outside?" Claire asked. "The city police, +or--" + +"City police won't lift a finger," Prestonby told her. "They never +help anybody who has a private police force; they have too much to do +protecting John Q. Citizen. Hutschnecker; suppose you call +Radical-Socialist campaign headquarters; tell them to rush some of +their Lone Rangers around here--" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration:] + +Russell M. Latterman was lunching in the store restaurant, at a table +next the thick glass partition, where he could look out across +Confectionery and Pastries toward the Tobacco Shoppe and the Liquor +Department. There were two ways of looking at it, of course. He was +occupying a table that might have been used by a customer, but, on the +other hand, he was known by sight to many of the customers, and the +fact that he was eating here had some advertising value, and he could +keep his eye on the business going on around him. Off in the distance, +he caught the white flash of a Literate smock at one of the counters; +one of the new crew sent in to replace the ones Bayne had pulled out. +He was glad and at the same time disturbed. He had had his doubts +about staging a Literates' strike, and he was almost positive that +Wilton Joyner had known nothing about it. The whole thing had been +Harvey Graves' idea. There was a serious question of Literate ethics +involved, to say nothing of the effect on the public. The trick of +forcing Claire Pelton to reveal her secret Literacy was all right, +although he wished that it had been Frank Cardon who had opened that +safe. Or did he? Cardon would have brazened it out, claimed to have +memorized the combination after having learned it by observation, and +would probably have gotten away with it. But that silly girl had lost +her head afterward, and had gone on to brand herself, irrevocably, as +a Literate. + +One of the waitresses was hurrying toward him, almost falling over +herself in excitement. She began talking when she was ten feet from +the table. + +"Mr. Latterman! Mr. Latterman!" she was calling to him. "A terrible +fight, down in Chinaware--!" + +"Well, what do we have store police for?" he demanded. "They can take +care of it. Now be quiet, Madge; don't get the customers excited!" + +He returned to his lunch, watching, with satisfaction, the crowd that +was packing into the Liquor Department, next to the restaurant. That +special loss-leader, Old Atom-Bomb Rye, had been a good idea. In the +first place, the stuff was fit for nothing but cleaning drains and +removing varnish; if he were Pelton, he would have fired that fool +buyer who got them overstocked on it. But the audio-advertiser, +outside, was reiterating: "_Choice whiskies, two hundred dollars a +sixth and up!_" and pulling in the customers, who, when they +discovered that the two-hundred-dollar bargain was Old Atom-Bomb, were +shelling out five hundred to a grand a sixth for good liquor. + +He finished his coffee and got to his feet. Be a good idea to look in +on Liquor, and see how things were going. The department was getting +more and more crowded every minute; three customers were entering for +every one who left. + +On the way, he passed two women, and caught a snatch of conversation: + +"Don't go down on the third floor, for Heaven's sake ... terrible +fight ... smashing everything up--" + +Worried, he continued into Liquor, and the looks of the crowd there +increased his worries. Too many men between twenty and thirty, all +dressed alike, looking alike, talking and acting alike. It looked like +a goon-gang infiltration, and he was beginning to see why Harvey +Graves had wanted the Literates pulled out, and why Joyner, bound by +ethics to do nothing against the commercial interests of Pelton's, had +known nothing about it. He started toward a counter, to speak to a +clerk, but one of the stocky, quietly-dressed young men stepped in +front of him. + +"Gimme a bottle of Atom-Bomb," he said. "Don't bother wrapping it." + +"Yes, sir." The clerk seemed worried, too. He got the bottle and set +it on the counter. "That'll be two C, sir." + +"I see you're wearing a Radical-Socialist button," the customer +commented. "Because you want to, or because Chet Pelton makes you?" + +"Mr. Pelton never interferes with his employees' political +convictions," the clerk replied loyally. + +Saying nothing, the customer took the bottle, swung it by the neck, +and smashed it over the clerk's head, knocking him senseless. + +"That's all that rotgut's good for," the customer said, jumping over +the counter. "All right, boys; help yourselves!" + + * * * * * + +For a surprisingly long time, the riot was localized in China, where +it had begun. Using, alternately, three TV-pickups around the scene of +the disturbance, Prestonby watched its progress, and watched +successive details of store personnel, armed with clubs and a few +knives and sono pistols, hit the riot, shouting their battle cry, and +vanish. They were, of course, lambs of sacrifice, however unlamblike +their conduct. They were buying time, and they were drawing groups of +goons into the action in China and Glassware who might have been +making trouble elsewhere. + +There was an outbreak on the sixth floor, in Liquor; Claire, touring +the store on the other TV-screen, spotted it and called his attention +to it. Back of the shattered glass partition, a mob of men were +snatching bottles from the shelves and tossing them out to the crowd. +One of the clerks, in his gray uniform jacket, was lying unconscious +outside. While Prestonby watched, another, and another, came flying +out the doorway. A fourth victim, in ordinary business clothes, +tattered and disheveled, came flying out after them, to land in a +heap, stunned for an instant, and then pick himself up. Prestonby +laughed heartily when he recognized Literate--undercover--First Class +Russell M. Latterman. + +"I ought to have anticipated that," he said. "Any time there's a riot, +the liquor stores are the first things looted. The liquor stores, and +the--Claire! See what's going on in Sporting Goods!" + +Sporting Goods, between Tools & Hardware and Toys, on the fifth floor, +was swamped. One of the clerks was lying on the floor in a puddle of +blood, past any help; none of the others were in sight. The gun racks +and pistol cases were being cleaned out systematically. This had been +organized in advance. There were four or five men working +industriously wiping grease out of bores and actions before handing +out firearms, and a couple more making sure that the right cartridges +went with each weapon. Somebody had brought a small grinding wheel +over from Tools and plugged it in, and was grinding points on the +foils and épées. Others were collecting baseball bats, golf clubs, and +football helmets and catchers' masks. The Tool Department was being +stripped of everything that could be used as a weapon, too. + +The whole store, by this time, was an approximation of Mutiny in a +Madhouse. Dressgoods was being looted by a howling mob of women, who +were pulling bolts of material from shelves and fighting among +themselves over them. Somebody had turned on the electric fans, and +long streams of flimsy fabric were blowing about like a surrealist +maypole dance. Somebody in Household Furnishings had turned on a +couple of fans, too, and a mob of hoodlums were opening cans of paint +and throwing them into the fan blades. + +The little Antiques Department, in a corner of the fourth floor back +of the Gift Shoppe, was an island of peace in the general chaos. There +was only one way into it, and one of the clerks, who had gotten +himself into a suit of Fifteenth Century battle armor, was standing in +the entrance, leaning on a two-hand sword. There was blood on the long +blade, and more blood splashed on the floor in front of him. He was +being left entirely alone. + + * * * * * + +Hutschnecker, called to the telephone, spoke briefly, listened for a +while, spoke again in hearty thanks, and hung up. + +"Macy & Gimbel's," he told Prestonby. "They heard about our +trouble--probably one of their price-spotters phoned in about it--and +they're offering to send twenty of their store-cops to help us out. +They'll be landing on our stage in eight minutes, rifles and steel +helmets." + +Prestonby nodded. It would have been quite conceivable that Pelton's +chief competitor had started the riot; since they hadn't, their offer +of armed aid was just as characteristic of the bitter but +mutually-respectful rivalries of the commercial world. A few minutes +later, another call came in, this time on the visiphone. Prestonby +took it when he saw a Literates' Guards officer in the screen and +recognized him. + +"That you, Prestonby?" the officer, Major Slater, asked in some +surprise. "Didn't know you were at Pelton's. What's going on, there?" + +Prestonby told him, briefly. + +"Yes; we had some of our people at the store, in plain clothes," +Slater said. "Just in case of trouble. On Mr. L.'s orders. They +reported a riot starting, but naturally, their reports were +incomplete. Can you get one of your landing stages cleared for us? We +have two hundred men, in twenty 'copters." Then he must have noticed +some of the store Illiterates back of Prestonby, and realized that +this offer of help to Literacy's worst enemy would arouse suspicion. +"Not that we care what happens to Chester Pelton, but we have to +protect our own people at the store." + +"Yes, of course," Prestonby agreed. "Come in on our north stage. +You'll probably find a fight going on on our twelfth floor, just +inside. Anybody who's trying to get up the escalators to the office +block will be an enemy." + +"Right. We're halfway there now." The Literates' Guards officer broke +the connection. + +"You heard that?" he asked, turning to the others in the office. "If +we can hold out till they get here, we're all right. Did you contact +Radical-Socialist headquarters, yet, Hutschnecker?" + +"Yes. I talked to a fellow named Yingling. He said that all the party +storm troops had been lured out to some kind of a disturbance in North +Jersey Borough; he'd try to get them recalled." + +Prestonby swore bitterly. "By the time his own party-goons get here, +the Literates' Guards and Macy & Gimbel's will have pulled Pelton's +bacon off the fire for him. Nice friends he has!" + +An alarm buzzer went off suddenly, and an urgent voice came out of the +box on the wall: + +"Here come the goons! South escalator!" + +Prestonby grabbed a burp gun and a canvas musette bag full of clips. +By the time he had gotten down to what, in deference to the +superstitions of the Illiterate store force, was known as the +fourteenth floor, an attack on the north escalator had developed as +well. In both cases, the attackers seemed to expect no organized +resistance. They simply jumped onto the escalators, adding their own +running speed, and came rushing up, firing pistols ahead of them at +random. + +The defenders, however, had been ready: the fire hoses caught those in +the lead and hurled them back. Some of them vaulted the barrier +between the ascending and descending spirals and let themselves be +carried down again. Less than five minutes after the buzzer had +sounded the warning, the attack stopped. The noise on the twelfth +floor increased, however, and, leaning over into the escalator-way, +Prestonby could see the rioters firing in the direction of the +entrance from the north landing stage. Within a matter of thirty +seconds, they began to flee, and a wave of Literates' Guards, in their +futuristic "space cadet" uniforms, came pouring in after them. + + * * * * * + +Douglass MacArthur Yetsko put the burp gun back together again, tried +the action, and laid it aside with a sigh. He had cleaned every weapon +in his and Prestonby's private arsenal, since lunch, and now he had to +admit the unpalatable fact that there was nothing left to do but turn +on the TV. Ray had been no company at all; the boy hadn't spoken a +word since he'd started rummaging among the captain's books. Gloomily, +he snapped on the screen to sample the soap shows. + +Della Pallas was in jail again, this time accused of murdering the +lawyer who had gotten her acquitted on a previous murder rap. +Considering the fact that she had languished in jail for almost a year +during the other trial, Yetsko felt that she had a sound motive. +Rudolf Barstow, in "Broadway Wife," was, like Bruce's spider, +spinning his five hundredth web to ensnare the glamorous Marie +Knobble. And there was a show about a schoolteacher and her class of +angelic little tots that almost brought Yetsko's lunch up. + +He shifted the dial again; a young Literate announcer was speaking +quickly, excitedly: + +"... Scene of the riot, already the worst this year, and growing +steadily worse. We take you now to downtown Manhattan, where our +portable units and commentators have just arrived, and switch you to +Ed Morgan." + +The screen went black, and Yetsko swore angrily. Ray lifted his head +quickly from his book and reached for the sono pistol Yetsko had given +him. + +"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and just a moment, until we can +give you the picture. We're having what is usually labeled as 'slight +technical difficulties,' in this case the difficulty of avoiding +having a hole shot in our camera or in your commentator's head. Yes, +that's shooting you hear; there, somebody's using an auto rifle! How +are you coming, Steve?" + +A voice muttered something which, two centuries ago, would have caused +an earth-shaking scandal in the whole radio-TV industry. + +"Well, till Steve gets things fixed up, a brief review, to date, of +what's sure to go down in history as the Battle of Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise--" + +"Huh?" Ray fairly shouted, the book forgotten. + +"... Started in the Chinaware Department, as a relatively innocent +brawl, and spread to the Liquor Department, and then, all of a sudden, +everybody started playing rough. At first, it was suspected that Macy +& Gimbel's had sent a goon gang around to break up Pelton's fall sale, +but when the former concern rallied to the assistance of their +competitor with a force of twenty riflemen, that began to look less +likely, and we're beginning to think that it might be the work of some +of Pelton's political enemies. About ten minutes ago, Major James F. +Slater, of the Literates' Guards, arrived with two hundred of his men, +to protect the Literates on duty at the store. They captured the +entire twelfth floor, where we are, now, with the exception of the +Ladies' Lingerie and Hosiery departments around one of the escalators +to the lower floors; here the gang who started the riot, and who are +now donning white hoods to distinguish themselves from the various +other factions involved, have thrown up barricades of counters and +display tables and are fighting bitterly to keep control of the +escalator head. Ah, here we are!" + +The screen lit suddenly, and they were looking, Ray over Yetsko's +shoulder, across the devastated expanse of what had been the Ladies' +Frocks department, toward Lingerie and Hosiery, which seemed to have +been thoroughly looted, then stripped of everything that could be used +to build a barricade. + +"... Seems to have been quite a number of heavy 'copters just landed +on the east stage, filled with more goons, probably to re-enforce the +gang back of that barricade. The firing's gotten noticeably heavier--" + + * * * * * + +Yetsko had turned from the screen, and was pawing in the arms locker. +For a job like this, he'd need firepower. He took the ten-shot clip +from the butt of his pistol and inserted one with a curling +hundred-shot drum at the bottom, and shoved two more like it into the +pockets of his jacket. And now, something to clear the way with. He +took out a three-foot length of weighted fire hose. + +Then he saw Ray. That kid was pinning him down, here, while the +captain was probably fighting for his life! But the captain'd told him +to stay with Ray--He dropped the weighted hose. + +"What's the matter, Doug?" the boy asked. "Pick it up and let's get +going." + +He shook his head. "Can't. The captain told me I had to take care of +you." + +The boy opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and thought for a +moment. Then he asked: + +"Doug, didn't Captain Prestonby tell you to stay with me?" + +"Yes--" + +"All right. You do just that, because I'm going to help Claire and the +senator. That's who that goon gang's after." + +Yetsko considered the proposition for a moment, horrified. Why, this +was the captain's girl's kid brother; if anything happened to him--His +mind refused to contemplate what the captain would do to him. + +"No. You gotta stay here, Ray," he said. "The captain--" + +Then his eye caught the screen. Ed Morgan must have found a place +where he could run his camera up on an extension rod from behind +something; they were looking down, from almost ceiling height, at the +barricade, and at the Literates' guards who were firing from cover at +it. A sudden blast of automatic-weapons burst from the barricade; more +men in white hoods came boiling up the escalator, and they all rushed +forward. The few Literates' guards skirmishers were overwhelmed. He +saw one of them, a man he knew, Sam Igoe, from Company 5, go down +wounded; he saw one of the white-hooded goons pause to brain him with +a carbine butt before charging on. + +"Why, you dirty rotten Illiterate--!" he roared, retrieving his +weighted hose. "Come on, Ray; let's go!" + +Ray hesitated, as though in thought. "Ken Dorchin; Harry Cobb; Dick +Hirschfield; Jerry McCarty; Ramon Nogales; Pete Shawne; Tom +Hutchinson--" + +"Who--?" Yetsko began. "What've they gotta do with--?" + +"We need a gang; the two of us'd last about as long as a pint of beer +at a Dutch picnic." Ray went to the desk, grabbed a pen, and made a +list of names, in a fair imitation of Ralph Prestonby's neat +block-printing. "Give this to the girl outside, and tell her to have +them called for and sent in here," the boy directed. "And see if you +can find us some transport. I think there ought to be a couple of big +'copters finished down at the shops. And if you can find a couple more +Literates' guards you can talk into going with us--" + +Yetsko nodded and took the paper without question. He was not, and he +would be the first to admit it, of the thinking type. He was a good +sergeant, but he had to have an officer to tell him what to do. Ray +Pelton might be only fifteen years old, but his sister was the +captain's girl, and that put him in the officer class. A very young +and recently-commissioned second lieutenant, say, but definitely an +officer. Yetsko took the list and looked at it. Like most Literates' +guards, he could read, after a fashion. He recognized the names; the +boys were all members of the top floor secret society. He went out and +gave the list to Martha Collins. + +He'd expected some argument with her, but she seemed to accept Ray +Pelton's printing as Prestonby's; she began checking room charts and +class lists, and calling for the boys to be sent at once to the +office. He went out, and down to the 'copter repair shop, where he +found that a big four-ton air truck that the senior class had been +working on for several weeks was finished. + +"That thing been tested, yet?" he asked the instructor. + +"Yes; I had it up, myself, this morning. Flew it over to the Bronx and +back with a load of supplies." + +"O. K. Have somebody you can trust--one of your guards, +preferably--bring it around behind the Administration Wing. Captain +Prestonby wants it. I'm to take some boys from Fourth Year Civics on a +tour. Something about election campaign methods." + +The instructor called a Literates' guard and gave him instructions. +Yetsko went to the guards' squad room on the second floor, where he +found half a dozen of the reserves loafing. + +"All right; you guys start earning your pay," he said. "We're going to +a party." + +The men got to their feet and began gathering their weapons. + +"Mason," he continued, "you have your big 'copter here; the gang of +you can all get in it. I'm taking off in a four-ton truck, with some +of these kids. I want you boys to follow us. We're going to Pelton's +store. There's a fight going on there, and the captain's in the middle +of it. We gotta get him out." + +They all looked at him in puzzled surprise, but nobody gave him any +argument. Funny, now that he thought of it; it had been quite a long +time since anybody had ever given him any argument about anything. A +couple of guys out in Pittsburgh had tried it, but somehow they'd lost +interest in arguing, after a little-- + +When he returned to the office and opened the door, a blast of shots +greeted him through the open door of Prestonby's private office. He +had his pistol out before he realized that the shooting was going on +at Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise, ten miles away. Literate Martha +Collins, in the inner room, was fairly screaming: "Shut that infernal +thing off and listen to me!" + +The dozen-odd boys whom Ray had recruited for the improvised +relief-expedition were pulling weapons out of the gun locker, pawing +through the boxes on the ammunition shelf, trying to explain to one +another the working of machine carbines and burp guns. Yetsko +shouldered through them and turned down the sound volume of the TV. + +"This is absolutely outrageous!" Literate Martha Collins stormed at +him. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking these children to a +murderous battle like that--" + +"Well, maybe it ain't right, using savages in a civilized riot," +Yetsko admitted, "but I don't care. The captain's in a jam, and I'd +use live devils, if I could catch a few." He took a burp gun from one +of the boys, who had opened the action and couldn't get it closed +again. "Here; you kids don't want this kinda stuff," he reproved. +"Sono guns, and sleep-gas guns, that's all right. But these things are +killing tools!" + +"It's what we'll have to use, Doug," Ray told him. "Things have been +happening, since you went out. Look at the screen." + +Yetsko looked, and swore blisteringly. Then he gave the burp gun back +to the boy. + +"Look; you gotta press this little gismo, here, to let the action shut +when there's no clip in, or when the clip's empty. When you got a +loaded clip in, you just pull back on this and let go--" + + * * * * * + +Frank Cardon looked at his watch, and saw that it was 1345, as it had +been ten seconds before, when he had last looked. He started to drum +nervously on his chair arm with his fingers, then caught himself as he +saw Lancedale, who must have been every bit as anxious as himself, +standing outwardly calm and unruffled. + +"Well, that's the situation which now confronts us, brother +Literates," the slender, white-haired man was finishing. "You must +see, by now, that the policy of unyielding opposition which some of +you have advocated and pursued is futile. You know the policy I favor, +which now remains the only policy we can follow; it is summed up in +that law of political strategy: If you can't lick 'em, join 'em, and, +after joining, take control. + +"In spite of the Radical-Socialist victory in this state at tomorrow's +election, it will not be possible, in the next Congress, to enact +Pelton's socialized Literacy program into law. The Radicals will not be +able to capture enough seats in the lower house, and there are too many +uncontested seats in the Senate now held by Independent-Conservatives. +But, and this is inevitable, barring some unforeseen accident of the +order of a political cataclysm, they will control both houses of +Congress after the election of 2144, two years hence, and we can also be +sure that two years hence Chester Pelton will be nominated and +overwhelmingly elected president of the Consolidated States of North +America. Six months thereafter, the socialized Literacy program will be +the law of the land. + +"So, we have until mid-2145 to make our preparations. I would estimate +that, if we do not destroy ourselves by our own folly in the meantime, +we should, two years thereafter, be in complete if secret control of +the whole Consolidated States Government. If any of you question that +last statement, you can merely ask yourselves one question: How, in +the name of all that is rational, can Illiterates control and operate +a system of socialized Literacy? Who but Literates can keep such a +program from disintegrating into complete and indescribable confusion? + +"I don't ask for any decision at this time. I do not ask for any +debate at this time. Let each of us consider the situation in his or +her own mind, and let us meet again a week from today to consider our +future course of action, each of us realizing that any decision we +take then will determine forever the fate of our Fraternities." He +looked around the room. "Thank you, brother Literates," he said. + +Instantly, Cardon was on his feet with a motion to recess the meeting +until 1300 the following Monday, and Brigade commander Chernov +seconded the motion immediately. As soon as Literate President +Morehead's gavel banged, Cardon, still on his feet, was running for +the double doors at the rear; the two Literates' guards on duty there +got them unsealed and opened by the time he had reached them. + +There was another guard in the hall, waiting for him with a little +record-disk. + +"From Major Slater; call came in about ten minutes ago," he said. + +Cardon snapped the disk into his recorder-reproducer and put in the +ear plug. + +"Frank," Slater's voice came out of the small machine. "You'd better +get busy, or you won't have any candidate when the polls open tomorrow. +Just got a call from Pelton's store--place infiltrated by goons, +estimated strength two hundred, presumed Independent-Conservatives. +Serious rioting already going on; I'm taking my reserve company there. +And if you haven't found out, yet, where China is, it's on the third +floor, next to Glassware." + +Cardon pulled out the ear plug, stuffed the recorder into his trouser +pocket, and began unbuckling his Sam Browne as he ran for the nearest +wall visiphone. He was dialing the guard room on that floor with one +hand as he took off the belt. + +"Get a big ambulance on the roof, with a Literate medic and +orderly-driver," he ordered, unbuttoning his smock. "And four guards, +plain clothes if possible, but don't waste time changing clothes if +you don't have anybody out of uniform. Heavy-duty sono guns, sleep-gas +projectors, gas masks and pistols. Hurry." He threw the smock and belt +at the guard. "Here, Pancho; put these away for me. Thanks." He tossed +the last word back over his shoulder as he ran for the escalator. + +[Illustration:] + +It was three eternal minutes after he had reached the landing stage +above before the ambulance arrived, medic and orderly on the front +seat and the four guards, all in conservatively cut civilian clothes, +inside. He crowded in beside the medic, told him, "Pelton's store," +and snapped the door shut as the big white 'copter began to rise. + +They climbed to five thousand feet, and then the driver nosed his +vehicle up, cut his propeller and retracted it, and fired his rocket, +aiming toward downtown Manhattan. Four minutes later, after the rocket +stopped firing and they were on the down-curve of their trajectory, +the propeller was erected and they began letting down toward the +central landing stage of Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise. Cardon cut in +the TV and began calling the control tower. + +"Ambulance, to evacuate Mr. Pelton," he called. "What's the score, +down there?" + +One of Pelton's traffic-control men appeared on Cardon's screen. +"You're safe to land on the central stage, but you'd better come in at +a long angle from the north," he said. "We control the north public +stage, but the east and south stages are in the hands of the goons; +they'd fire on you. Land beside that big pile of boxes under +tarpaulins up here, but be careful; it's fireworks we didn't have time +to get into storage." + +The ambulance came slanting in from uptown, and Cardon looked around +anxiously. The May-fly dance of customers' 'copters had stopped; there +was a Sabbath stillness about the big store, at least visually. A few +small figures in Literates' guards black leather moved about on the +north landing stage, and several Pelton employees were on the central +stop stage. The howling of the 'copter propeller overhead effectively +blocked out any sounds that might be coming from the building, at +least until the ambulance landed. Then a spatter of firing from below +was audible. + +Cardon, the medic and the guards piled out, the latter with the +stretcher. The orderly-driver got out his tablet pistol and checked +the chamber, then settled into a posture of watchful relaxation. Major +Slater was waiting for them by one of the vertical lift platforms. + +"I tried to get hold of you, but that blasted meeting was going on, +and they had the doors sealed, and--" he began. + +Cardon hushed him quickly. "Around here, I'm an Illiterate," he +warned. "Where's Pelton? We've got to get him and his daughter out of +here, at once." + +"He's still flat on his back, out cold," Slater said. "The medic you +sent around here gave him a shot of hypnotaine: he'll be out for a +couple of hours, yet. Prestonby's still here. He's commanding the +defense; doing a good job, too." + +That was good. Ralph would help get Claire to Literates' Hall, after +they'd gotten her father to safety. + +"There must be about five hundred Independent-Conservative storm +troopers in the store," Slater was saying. "Most of them got here +after we did. The city cops have all the street approaches roped off; +they're letting nobody but Grant Hamilton's thugs in." + +"They were fairly friendly this morning," Cardon said. "Mayor Jameson +must have passed the word." They all got off the lift two floors down, +where they found Claire Pelton and Ralph Prestonby waiting. "Hello, +Ralph. Claire. What's the situation?" + +"We have all the twelfth floor," Prestonby said. "We have about half +the eleventh, including the north and west public stages. We have the +basement and the storerooms and the warehouse--Sergeant Coccozello's +down there, with as many of the store police and Literates and +Literates' guards and store-help as he could salvage, and the +warehouse gang. They've taken most of the ground floor, the main +mezzanine, and parts of the second floor. We moved two of the 7-mm +machine guns down from the top, and we control the front street +entrance with them and a couple of sono guns. The store's isolated +from the outside by the city police, who are allowing re-enforcements +to come through for the raiders, but we're managing to stop them at +the doors." + +"Have you called Radical-Socialist headquarters for help?" + +"Yes, half a dozen times. There's some fellow named Yingling there, +who says that all their storm troops are over in North Jersey, on some +kind of a false-alarm riot-call, and can't be contacted." + +"So?" Cardon commented gently. "That's too bad, now." Too bad for +Horace Yingling and Joe West; this time tomorrow, they'll be a pair of +dead traitors, he thought. "Well, we'll have to make do with what we +have. Where's Russ Latterman, by the way?" + +Prestonby gave a sidewise glance toward Claire and shook his head, his +lips pressed tightly together. _She doesn't know, yet_, Cardon +interpreted. + +"Down in the basement, with Coccozello," Prestonby said, aloud. "We're +in telephone communication with Coccozello, and have a freight +elevator running between here and the basement. Coccozello says +Latterman is using a rifle against the raiders, killing every one he +can get a shot at." + +Cardon nodded. Probably vindictive about being involved in action +injurious to Pelton's commercial interests; just another odd quirk of +Literate ethics. + +"We'd better get him up here," he said. "You and I have got to leave, +at once; we have to get Pelton and Claire to safety. He can help Major +Slater till we can get back with re-enforcements. I am going to kill a +man named Horace Yingling, and then I'm going to round up the storm +troops he diverted on a wild-goose chase to North Jersey." He nodded +to the medic and the four plain-clothes guards. "Get Pelton on the +stretcher. Better use the canvas flaps and the straps. He's under +hypnotaine, but it's likely to be a rough trip. Claire, get anything +you want to take with you. Ralph will take you where you'll be safe +for a while." + +"But the store--" Claire began. + +"Your father has riot-insurance, doesn't he? I know he does; they +doubled the premium on him when he came out for Senate. Let the +insurance company worry about the store." + +The medic and the guards moved into Chester Pelton's private rest room +with the stretcher. Claire went to the desk and began picking up odds +and ends, including the pistol Cardon had given her, and putting them +in her handbag. + +"We've got to keep her away from her father, for a few days, Ralph," +he told Prestonby softly. "It's all over town that she can read and +write. We've got to give him a chance to cool off before he sees her +again. Take her to Lancedale. I have everything fixed up; she'll be +admitted to the Fraternities this afternoon, and given Literate +protection." + +Prestonby grabbed his hand impulsively. "Frank! I'll never be able to +repay you for this, not if I live to be a thousand--" he began. + +There was a sudden blast of sound from overhead--the banging of +machine guns, the bark of the store's 20-mm auto-cannon, the howling +of airplane jets, and the crash of explosions. Everybody in the room +jerked up and stood frozen, then Prestonby jumped for the TV-screen +and pawed at the dials. A moment later, after the screen flashed and +went black twice, they were looking across the topside landing stage +from a pickup at one corner. + +A slim fighter-bomber, with square-tipped, backswept, wings, was +jetting up in almost perpendicular flight; another was coming in +toward the landing stage, and, as they watched, a flight of rockets +leaped forward from under its wings. Cardon saw the orderly-driver of +the ambulance jump down and start to run for the open lift-shaft. He +got five steps away from his vehicle. Then the rockets came in, and +one of them struck the tarpaulin-covered pile of boxes beside the +ambulance. There was a flash of multicolored flame, in which the man +and the vehicle he had left both vanished. Immediately, the screen +went black. + +The fireworks had mostly exploded at the first blast; however, when +Cardon and Major Slater and one or two others reached the top landing +stage, there were still explosions. A thing the size and shape of a +two-gallon kettle, covered with red paper, came rolling toward them, +and suddenly let go with a blue-green flash, throwing a column of +smoke, in miniature imitation of an A-bomb, into the air. Something +about three feet long came whizzing at them on the end of a tail of +fire, causing them to fling themselves flat; involuntarily, Cardon's +head jerked about and his eyes followed it until it blew up with a +flash and a bang three blocks uptown. Here and there, colored fire +flared, small rockets flew about, and firecrackers popped. + +The ambulance was gone, blown clear off the roof. The other 'copters +on the landing stage were a tangled mass of wreckage. The 20-mm was +toppled over; the gunner was dead, and one of the crew, half-dazed, +was trying to drag a third man from under the overturned gun. The +control tower, with the two 12-mm machine guns, was wrecked. The two +7-mm's that had been left on the top had vanished, along with the +machine gunners, in a hole that had been blown in the landing stage. + +Cardon, Slater, and the others dashed forward and pulled the +auto-cannon off the injured man, hauling him and his companion over to +the lift. The two rakish-winged fighter-bombers were returning, +spraying the roof with machine-gun bullets, and behind them came a +procession of fifteen big 'copters. They dropped the lift hastily; +Slater jumped off when it was still six feet above the floor, and +began shouting orders. + +"Falk: take ten men and get to the head of this lift-shaft! Burdick, +Levine: get as many men as you can in thirty seconds, and get up to +the head of the escalator! Diaz: go down and tell Sternberg to bring +all his gang up here!" + +Cardon caught up a rifle and rummaged for a bandolier of ammunition, +losing about a minute in the search. The delay was fortunate; when he +got to the escalators, he was met by a rush of men hurrying down the +ascending spiral or jumping over onto the descending one. + +"Sono guns!" one of them was shouting. "They have the escalator head +covered; you'll get knocked out before you get off the spiral!" + +He turned and looked toward the freight lift. It was coming down again, +with Falk and his men unconscious on it, knocked senseless by bludgeons +of inaudible sound, and a half a dozen of the 'copter-borne raiders, all +wearing the white robes and hoods of the Independent-Conservative storm +troops. He swung his rifle up and began squeezing the trigger, +remembering to first make sure that the fire-control lever was set +forward for semiauto, and remembering his advice to Goodkin, that +morning. By the time the platform had stopped, all the men in white +robes were either dead or wounded, and none of the unconscious +Literates' guards along with them had been injured. The medic who had +come with Cardon, assisted by a couple of the office force, got the +casualties sorted out. There was nothing that could be done about the +men who had been sono-stunned; in half an hour or so, they would recover +consciousness with no ill effects that a couple of headache tablets +wouldn't set right. + +The situation, while bad, was not immediately desperate. If the +white-clad raiders controlled the top landing stage, they were pinned +down by the firearms and sono guns of the defenders, below, who were +in a position to stop anything that came down the escalators or the +lift shaft. The fate of the first party was proof of that. And the +very magnitude of the riot guaranteed that somebody on the outside, +city police, State guards, or even Consolidated States regulars, would +be taking a hand shortly. The air attack and 'copter-landing on the +roof had been excellent tactics, but it had been a serious +policy-blunder. As long as the disturbance had been confined to the +interior of the store, the city police could shrug it off as another +minor riot on property supposed to be protected by private police, and +do nothing about it. The rocket-attack on the top landing stage and +the spectacular explosion of the fireworks temporarily stored there, +however, was something that simply couldn't be concealed or dismissed. +The cloud of varicolored smoke alone must have been visible all over +the five original boroughs of the older New York, and there were +probably rumors of atom-bombing going around. + +"What gets me," Slater, who must have been thinking about the same +thing, said to Cardon, "is where they got hold of those two +fighter-bombers. That kind of stuff isn't supposed to be in private +hands." + +"A couple of hundred years ago, they had something they called the +Sullivan Law," Cardon told him. "Private citizens weren't even allowed +to own pistols. But the gangsters and hoodlums seemed to be able to +get hold of all the pistols they wanted, and burp guns, too. I know of +four or five racket gangs in this area that have aircraft like that, +based up in the Adirondacks, at secret fields. Anybody who has +connections with one of those gangs can order an air attack like this +on an hour's notice, if he's able to pay for it. What I can't +understand is the Independent-Conservatives doing anything like this. +The facts about this business will be all over the state before the +polls open tomorrow--" He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Come on; +let's have a look at those fellows who came down on the lift!" + +There were two dead men in white Independent-Conservative robes and +hoods, lying where they had been dragged from the lift platform. +Cardon pulled off the hoods and zipped open the white robes. One of +the men was a complete stranger; the other, however, was a man he had +seen, earlier in the day, at the Manhattan headquarters of the +Radical-Socialist Party. One of the Consolidated Illiterates' +Organization people; a follower of West and Yingling. + +"So that's how it was!" he said, straightening. "Now I get it! Let's +go see if any of those wounded goons are in condition to be +questioned." + + * * * * * + +Ray Pelton and Doug Yetsko had their heads out an open window on the +right side of the cab of the 'copter truck; Ray was pointing down. + +"That roof, over there, looks like a good place to land," he said. "We +can get down the fire escape, and the hatch to the conveyor belt is +only half a block away." + +Yetsko nodded. There'd be a watchman, or a private cop, in the +building on which Ray intended landing. A couple of hundred dollars +would take care of him, and they could leave two of Mason's boys with +the vehicles to see that he stayed bribed. + +"Sure we can get in on the freight conveyor?" he asked. "Maybe it'll +be guarded." + +"Then we'll have to crawl in through the cable conduit," Ray said. +"I've done that, lots of times; so have most of the other guys." He +nodded toward the body of the truck, behind, where his dozen-odd +'teenage recruits were riding. "I've played all over the store, ever +since I've been big enough to walk; I must know more about it than +anybody but the guy who built it. That's why I said we'd have to bring +bullet guns; down where we're going, we'd gas ourselves with gas guns, +and if we used sono guns, we'd knock ourselves out with the echo." + +"You know, Ray, you'll make a real storm trooper," Yetsko said. "If +you manage to stay alive for another ten years, you'll be almost as +good a storm troop captain as Captain Prestonby." + +That, Ray knew, was about as high praise as Doug Yetsko could give +anybody. He'd have liked to ask Doug more about Captain +Prestonby--Doug could never seem to get used to the idea of his +officer being a schoolteacher--but there was no time. The 'copter +truck was already settling onto the roof. + +The watchman proved amenable to reason. He took one look at Yetsko, +with three feet of weighted fire hose in his hand, and gulped, then +accepted the two C-notes Yetsko gave him. They left a couple of +Literates' guards with the vehicles, and Ray led the way to the fire +escape, and down into the alley. A few hundred feet away, there was an +iron grating which they pulled up. Ray drew the pistol he had gotten +out of Captain Prestonby's arms locker and checked the magazine, +chamber, and safety, knowing that Yetsko and the other guards were +watching him critically, and then started climbing down the ladder. + +The conduit was halfway down. Yetsko, climbing behind him, examined it +with his flashlight, probably wondering how he was going to fit +himself into a hole like that. They climbed down onto the concrete +walkway beside the conveyor belts, and in the dim light of the +overhead lamps Ray could see that the two broad belts, to and from the +store, were empty for as far as he could see in either direction. +Normally, there should be things moving constantly in both +directions--big wire baskets full of parcels for delivery, and trash +containers, going out, and bales and crates and cases of merchandise, +and empty delivery baskets and trash containers coming in. He pointed +this out to Yetsko. + +"Sure," the big Literates' guards sergeant nodded. "They got control +of the opening from the terminal, and they probably got a gang up at +the other end, too," he shouted, over the noise of the conveyor belts. +"I hope they haven't got into the basement of the store." + +"If they have, I know a way to get in," Ray told him. "You'd better +stay here for about five minutes, and let me scout ahead. We don't +want to run into a big gang of them ahead." + +Yetsko shook his head. "No, Ray; the captain told me I was to stick +with you. I'll go along with you. And we better take another of these +kids, for a runner, in case we have to send word back." + +"Ramon, you come with us," Ray said. "The rest of you, stay here for +five minutes, and then, if you don't hear from us, follow us." + +"Mason, you take over," Yetsko told the guards corporal. "And keep an +eye out behind you. We're in a sandwich, here; they're behind us, and +in front of us. If anything comes at you from behind, send the kids +forward to the next conduit port." + +Ray and Yetsko and Ramon Nogales started forward. Halfway to the next +conduit port, there was a smear of lubricating oil on the concrete, +and in it, and away from it in the direction of the store, they found +footprints. It was Ramon Nogales who noticed the oil on the ladder to +the next conduit port. + +"You stick here," Yetsko told him, "and when Mason and the others come +up, hold them here. Tell Mason to send one of the guards forward, and +use the rest of the gang to grab anybody who comes out. Come on, Ray." + +At the port beyond, they halted, waiting for Mason's man to come up. +They lost some time, thereafter, but they learned that the section of +conduit between the two ports was empty and that the main telephone +line to the store had been cut. Whoever had cut it had gone, either +forward or back away from the store. A little farther on, the sound of +shots ahead became audible over the clanking and rattling of the +conveyor belts. + +"Well, I guess this is where we start crawling," Yetsko said. "Your +father's people seem to be holding the store basement against a gang +in the conveyor tunnel." + +One of the boys scouted ahead, and returned to report that they could +reach the next conduit port, but that the section of both conveyor +belts ahead of him was stopped, apparently wedged. + +Yetsko stood for a moment, grimacing in an effort to reach a decision. + +"I'd like to just go forward and hit them from behind," he said. "But +I don't know how many of them there are, and we'd have to be careful, +shooting into them, that we didn't shoot up your father's gang, beyond +them. I wish--" + +"Well, let's go through the conduit, then," Ray said. "We can slide +down a branch conduit that runs a power line into the basement. I'll +go ahead; everybody at the store knows me, and they don't know you. +They might shoot you before they found out you were a friend." + +Before Yetsko could object, he started up the ladder, Yetsko behind +him and the others following. At the next conduit port, they could +hear shooting very plainly, seeming to be in front of them. At the +next one, the shooting seemed to be going on directly under them, in +the tunnel. With the flashlight Yetsko had passed forward to him, Ray +could see that the dust on the concrete floor of the three-foot by +three-foot passage between and under the power and telephone cables +was undisturbed. + +A little farther on, there was an opening on the left, and a power +cable branched off downward, at a sharp angle, overhead. Ray was able +to turn about and get his feet in front of him; Yetsko had to crawl on +until he had passed it, and then back into it after Ray had entered. +Bracing one foot on either side, Ray inched his way down the +forty-degree slope, hoping that the two hundred pound weight of Doug +Yetsko wouldn't start sliding upon him. + +Ahead, he could hear voices. He drew his hands and feet away from the +sides of the branch conduit and let himself slip, landing in a heap in +the electricians' shop, above the furnace rooms. Two men, who had been +working at a bench, trying to assemble a mass of equipment into a +radio, whirled, snatching weapons. Ray knew both of them--Sam +Jacobowitz and George Nyman, who serviced the store's communications +equipment. They both stared at him, swearing in amazement. + +"All right, Doug!" Ray called out. "We're in! Bring the gang down!" + + * * * * * + +Frank Cardon and Ralph Prestonby were waiting at the freight-elevator +door when it opened and Russell Latterman emerged, a rifle slung over +one shoulder. Cardon stepped forward and took the rifle from him. + +"Come on over here, Russ," he said. "And don't do anything reckless." + +They led him to one side. Latterman looked from one to the other +apprehensively, licking his lips. + +"It's all right; we're not going to hurt you, Russ," Cardon assured +him. "We just want a few facts. Beside rigging that business with +Bayne, and almost killing Chet Pelton, and forcing Claire to blow her +cover, how much did you have to do with this business?" + +"And who put you up to it?" Prestonby wanted to know. "My guess is +Joyner and Graves. Am I right?" + +"Graves," Latterman said. "Joyner didn't have anything to do with it; +didn't know anything about it. He's in charge of the Retail +Merchandising section, and any action like this would be unethical, +since Pelton's is a client of the Retail Merchandising section. All +Graves told me to do was fix up a situation, using my own judgment, +that would provoke a Literate strike and force either Claire or Frank +here to betray Literacy. But I had no idea that it would involve a +riot like this. If I had, I'd have stood on Literates' ethics and +refused to have any part in it." + +"That's about how I thought it would be," Cardon nodded. "Graves +probably was informed by Literates with the Independent-Conservatives +that this riot was planned; he wanted to get our people out of the +store. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't present at the extemporary +meeting that reversed Bayne's action in calling the strike." He handed +the rifle back to Latterman. "I just took this in case you might get +excited, before I could explain. And you can forget about the +Graves-Joyner opposition to Pelton. We had a meeting, right after +noon. Lancedale gained the upper hand; Joyner and Graves are +co-operating, now; the plan is to support Pelton and get on the inside +of the socialized Literacy program, when it's enacted." + +"I still think that's a suicidal policy," Latterman said. "But not as +suicidal as splitting the Fraternities and trying to follow two +policies simultaneously. I wonder if I could put a call through to +Literates' Hall without some of these picture-readers overhearing me." + +"You've been out of touch, down in the cellar, Russ." Prestonby told +him. "Our telephone line's cut, and the radio is smashed." He told +Latterman about the rocket attack on the control tower, which also +housed the store's telecast station. "So we're sandwiched, here; one +gang has us blocked at the twelfth floor, and another gang's up on the +roof, trying to get down at us from above, and we've no way to +communicate with the outside. We can pick up the regular telecasts, +but nobody outside seems to be paying much attention to us." + +"There's a lot of equipment down in the electricians' shop," Latterman +said. "Maybe we could rig up a sending set that could contact one of +the telecast stations outside." + +"That's an idea," Prestonby said. "Let's see what we can do about it." + +They went into Pelton's office. The store owner was still lying +motionless on his stretcher. Claire was fiddling with a telecast +receiving set; she had just tuned out a lecture on Home +Beautifications and had gotten the mid-section of a serial in which +three couples were somewhat confused over just who was married to +whom. + +"Nobody seems to realize what's happening to us!" she said, turning +the knob again. Then she froze, as Elliot C. Mongery--this time +sponsored by Parc, the Miracle Cleanser--appeared on the screen. + +"... And it seems that the attack on Chester Pelton has picked up new +complications; somebody seems determined to wipe out the whole Pelton +family, because, only ten minutes ago, some twenty armed men invaded +the Mineola High School, where Pelton's fifteen-year-old son, Raymond, +is a student, and forced their way to the office of Literate First +Class Ralph N. Prestonby, in an attempt to kidnap young Pelton. +Neither Literate Prestonby, the principal, nor the Pelton boy, who was +supposed to be in his office, could be found. The raiders were put to +flight by the presence of mind of Literate Martha B. Collins, who +pressed the button which turned in the fire alarm, filling the halls +with a mob of students. The interlopers fled in panic after being set +upon and almost mobbed--" + +Prestonby looked worried. "I left Ray in my office, with Doug Yetsko," +he said. "I can't understand--" + +[Illustration:] + +"Maybe Yetsko got a tip that they were coming and got Ray out of the +school," Cardon suggested. "I hope he took him home." He caught +himself just in time to avoid mentioning the platoon of Literates' +guards at the Pelton home, which he was not supposed to know about. +"Don't worry, Claire; if anything'd happened to Ray, Mongery'd have +been screaming about it to high heaven. That's what he's paid to do." + +"Well, I'll stake my life on it; if anybody tried to do anything to +Ray while Yetsko was with him, you'd have heard about it," Prestonby +said. "It'd have been a bigger battle than this one." + +"... Can't seem to find out anything about what's going on at +Pelton's store," Mongery continued. "Telephone and radio communication +seems to be broken, and, although there is continuous firing going on +inside the building, the city police, who have a cordon completely +around it, say that the situation in the store is well in hand. +Considering Chester Pelton's attacks on the city administration and +particularly the police department, I leave to your imagination what +they mean by that. We do know that a large body of unidentified +plug-uglies whom Police Inspector Cassidy claims are 'special +officers' are holding the conveyor line into the store at the downtown +Manhattan terminal, and nobody seems to know what's going on at the +other end--" + +"They have the sections of both belts at the store entrance end +wedged," Latterman said, coming up at the moment. "Coccozello has a +barricade thrown up across the store end of the tunnel, and they have +a barricade about fifty yards down the tunnel. That's where I was +fighting when you called me up." + +"Anything being done about gold-berging up a radio sending-set?" +Prestonby asked. + +"Yes. I just called Coccozello," Latterman said. "Fortunately, the +inter-department telephone is still working. He's put a couple of men +to work, and thinks he may have a set in operation in about half an +hour." + +"... And if, as I much fear, Chester Pelton has been murdered, then I +advise all listening to me to go to the polls tomorrow and vote the +straight Anarchist ticket. If we've got to have anarchy in this +country, let's have anarchy for all, and not just for Grant Hamilton +and his political adherents!" Mongery was saying. + + * * * * * + +There was a series of heavy explosions on the floor above. Everybody +grabbed weapons and hurried outside, crowding onto the escalators. The +floor above was a shambles, with bodies lying about, and the +descending escalator was packed with white-robed attackers, who had +apparently prepared for their charge by tossing down a number of +heavy fragmentation bombs. Cardon had a burp gun, this time; he +emptied the fifty-shot magazine into the hooded hoodlums who were +coming down. Prestonby, beside him, had a heavy sono gun; he kept it +trained on the head of the escalator and held the trigger back until +it was empty, then slapped in a fresh clip of the small blank +cartridges which produced the sound waves that were amplified and +altered to stunning vibrations. Still, many of the attackers got +through. More were dropping down the lift-platform shaft. Cardon's +submachine-gun ceased firing, the action open on an empty clip. He +dropped it and yanked the heavy pistol from his shoulder holster. +Then, from the direction of the freight elevator, reinforcements +arrived, headed by a huge man in the black leather of the Literates' +guard, who swung a three-foot length of fire hose with his right hand +and fired a pistol with his left, and a boy in a black-and-red jacket +who was letting off a burp gun in deliberate, parsimonious, bursts. It +was a second or two before Cardon recognized them as Prestonby's +bodyguard, Doug Yetsko, and Claire Pelton's brother Ray. There were +four Literates' guards and about a dozen boys with them, all firing +with a variety of weapons. + +At the same time, others were arriving on the escalators from the +floors below, firing as they came off--Slater's Literates' guards, the +Literates and their black-jacketed troopers of Hopkinson's store +service crew, the fifteen survivors of the twenty riflemen from Macy & +Gimbel's. The attackers turned and crowded onto the ascending +escalator. Most of them got away, the casualties being carried up by +the escalator. Doug Yetsko bounded forward and brought his fire hose +down on the back of one invader's neck. Then, after a last spatter of +upward-aimed shots from the defenders, there was silence. + +Cardon stepped forward and yanked the hood from the man whom Yetsko +had knocked down, hoping that he had a stunned prisoner who could be +interrogated. The man was dead, however, with a broken neck. For a +moment, Cardon looked down at the heavy, brutal features of Joe West, +the Illiterates' Organization man. If Chester Pelton got out of this +mess alive and won the election tomorrow, there was going to have to +be a purge in the Radical-Socialist party, and something was going to +have to be done about the Consolidated Organization of Illiterates. He +turned to Yetsko. + +"You and your gang got here just in the nick of time," he said. "How +did you get into the store?" + +"Through the freight conveyor, into the basement." + +"But I thought those goons had both ends of that plugged." + +"They did," Yetsko grinned. "But Ray Pelton took us in at the middle, +and we crawled through a cable conduit to get around the gang at this +end." + +Cardon looked around quickly, in search of Ray. The boy, having come +out of the excitement of battle, was looking around at the litter of +dead and wounded on the blood-splashed floor. His eyes widened, and he +gulped. Then, carefully setting the safety of his burp gun and +slinging it, he went over and leaned against the wall, and was sick. + +Prestonby, with Claire Pelton beside him, started toward the +white-faced, retching boy. Yetsko put out a hamlike hand to stop them. + +"If the kid wants to be sick, let him be sick," he said. "He's got a +right to. I was sicker'n that, after my first fight. But he won't do +that the next time." + +"There isn't going to be any next time!" Claire declared, with +maternal protectiveness. + +"That's what you think, Miss Claire," Yetsko told her. "That boy's +gonna make a great storm trooper," he declared. "Every bit as great as +Captain Prestonby, here." + +Claire looked up at Prestonby almost worshipfully. "And I never knew +anything about your being a fighting-man, till today," she said. +"Ralph, there's so much about you that I don't know." + +"There'll be plenty of time to find out, now, honey," he told her. + +Cardon stepped over the body of Joe West and went up to them. + +"Sorry to intrude on you two," he said, "but we've got to figure on +how to get out of here. Could we get out the same way you got in?" he +asked Yetsko. "And take Mr. Pelton with us?" + +Yetsko frowned. "Part of the way, we gotta crawl through this conduit; +it's only about a yard square. And we'd have to go up a ladder, and +out a manhole, to get out of the conveyor tunnel. What sorta shape's +Mr. Pelton in?" + +"He's under hypnotaine, completely unconscious," Prestonby said. + +"Then we'd have to drag him," Yetsko said. "Strap him up in a tarp, or +load him into a sleeping bag, if we can get hold of one." + +"There are plenty, down in the warehouse," Latterman interrupted, +joining them. "And the warehouse is in our hands." + +"All right," Cardon decided. "We'll take him out, now, and take him +home. I have some men there who'll take care of him. We'll have to get +you and Ray out, too," he told Claire. "I think we'll take both of you +to Literates' Hall; you'll be absolutely safe there." + +"But the store," Claire started to object. "And all these people who +came here to help us--" + +"As soon as I have your father home, I'm going to start rounding up a +gang to raise the siege," Cardon said. "Radical-Socialist storm +troops, and--" He grinned suddenly. "The insurance company; the one +that has the store insured against riot! Why didn't I think of them +before? They're losing money every second this thing goes on. It'll be +worth their while to start doing something to stop it!" + + * * * * * + +The trip out through the conduit was not so difficult, even with the +encumbrance of the unconscious Chester Pelton, but Prestonby was +convinced that, except for the giant strength of Doug Yetsko, it would +have been nearly impossible. Ray Pelton, recovered from his +after-battle nausea and steeled by responsibility, went first. Cardon +crawled after him, followed by a couple of the boys. Then came Yetsko, +dragging the sleeping bag in which Chester Pelton was packed like a +mummy. Prestonby himself followed, pushing on his future +father-in-law's feet, and Claire crawled behind, with the rest of +Ray's schoolmates for a rearguard. + +They got past the battle which was still going on at the entrance to +the store basement, letting Pelton down with a rope and carrying him +onto the outward-bound belt. They left it in time to assemble under +the ladder leading to the alley through which Ray said they had +entered, and hauled Pelton up after them. Then, when they were all out +in the open again, Ray ran up the alley and mounted a fire escape, +and, in a few minutes, a big 'copter truck which had been parked on +the roof let down to them. Into this, Cardon ordered the unconscious +senatorial candidate loaded, and the boys who had come with Ray. + +"I'll take him home, and then run the boys to the school," he told +Prestonby. "You and Ray and Claire get in this other 'copter and go +straight to Literates' Hall." He pointed up to the passenger vehicle +which was hovering above, waiting for the truck to leave. "Go in the +church way, and go straight to Lancedale's office. And here." He +scribbled an address and a phone number and a couple of names. "These +men have my 'copter at this address. Call them as soon as you get to +Literates' Hall and have them take it at once to Pelton's home, on +Long Island." + +Prestonby nodded and watched Cardon climb into the truck. The +Literates' guard who was driving lifted it up and began windmilling +away toward the east. The passenger 'copter, driven by another guard +from the school, settled down. Putting Ray and Claire into it, he +climbed in after them. + +"Ray," he said, "how would you like to be a real white-smock +Literate?" + +Ray's eyes opened. "You think I'm good enough?" + +"Good enough to be a novice, to start with. And I don't think you'll +stay a novice long." + +Claire looked at him inquiringly, saying nothing. + +"You, too, honey," he said. "Frank fixed it all up. You and Ray will +be admitted to the Fraternities, this afternoon. And that will remove +any objection to our being married." + +"But ... how about the Senator?" she asked. + +Prestonby shrugged. "It's all over the state now that you can read; +there's nothing that you can do about it. And Frank has a lot of +influence with him; he'll talk him around to where he'll be willing to +make the best of it, in a week or so." + + * * * * * + +Russell Latterman noticed that Major Slater was looking at him in a +respectfully inquiring manner. He said nothing, and, at length, the +Literates' guards officer broke the silence. + +"You didn't go out with the others." + +Latterman shook his head. "No, major; I'm an executive of Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise, however unlike its name it may look at the +moment. My job's here. I'm afraid I'll have to lean pretty heavily on +you, until Mr. Cardon can get help to us. I'm not particularly used to +combat." + +"You've been doing all right with that rifle," Slater told him. + +"I can hit what I aim at, yes. But I'm not used to commanding men in +combat, and I'm not much of a tactician." + +Slater thrust out his hand impulsively. "I took a sort of poor view +of you, at first. I'm sorry," he said. "Want me to take command?" + +"If you please, major." + +"What are you going to do, after this thing's over?" Slater asked. + +"Stay on with Pelton's, provided Mr. P. doesn't find out that I +organized that trick with his medicine and the safe," Latterman said. +"Since Lancedale seems to have gotten on top at the Hall, I am, as of +now, a Lancedale partisan. That's partly opportunism, and it's partly +because, since a single policy has been adopted, I feel obliged to go +along with it. I'll have to get the store back in operation, as soon +as possible. Pelton's going to need money, badly, if he's going to try +for the presidency in '44." He looked around him. "You know, I've +always wanted to run a fire sale; this'll be even better--a battle +sale!" + + * * * * * + +Cardon watched Chester Pelton apprehensively as the bald-headed +merchant and senatorial candidate sipped from the tall glass in his +hand and then set it on the table beside him. His face was pale, and +he had the look of a man who has just been hit with a blackjack. + +"That's an awful load of bricks to dump on a man, all at once, +Frank," he said reproachfully. + +"You'd rather I told you, now, than turn on the TV and hear some +commentator talking about it, wouldn't you?" Cardon asked. + +Pelton swore vilely, in a lifeless monotone, cursing Literacy, and +all Literates back to the invention of the alphabet. Then he stopped +short. + +"No, Frank, I don't mean that, either. My own son and daughter are +Literates; I can't say that about them. But how long--?" + +"Oh, for about a year, I'd say. I understand, now, that they were +admitted to the Fraternities six months ago," he invented. + +"And they were working against me, all that time?" Pelton demanded. + +Cardon shook his head. "No, Chet; they were for you, all the way. Your +daughter exposed her Literacy to save your life. Your son and his +teacher came to your store and fought for you. But there are Literates +who want to see you defeated, and they're the ones who made that +audio-visual, secretly, of the ceremony in which your son and daughter +took the Literates' Oath and received the white smock, and they're +going to telecast it this evening at twenty-one hundred. Coming on top +of the stories that have been going around all afternoon, and Slade +Gardner's speech, this morning, they think that'll be enough to defeat +you." + +"Well, don't you?" Pelton gloomed. "My own kids, Literates!" He seemed +to have reached a point at which he was actually getting a masochistic +pleasure out of turning the dagger in his wounds. "Who'd trust me, +after this?" + +"No, Chet; it isn't enough to beat you--if you just throw away that +crying towel and start fighting. They made one mistake that's going +to wreck them." + +"What's that, Frank?" Pelton brightened, by about one angstrom unit. + +"The timing, of course!" Cardon told him, impatiently. "I thought +you'd see that, at once. This telecast comes on at twenty-one hundred. +Your final speech comes on at twenty-one thirty. As soon as they've +shown this business of Claire and Ray taking the Literate Oath, you'll +be on the air, yourself, and if you put on any kind of a show worth +the name, it won't be safe for anybody in this state to be caught +wearing a white smock. Now, if they'd only had the wit to wait till +after you'd delivered that speech you've been practicing on for the +last two weeks, and then spring this on you, that would have been +different. They'd have had you over a barrel. But this way, you have +them!" + +Pelton took another gulp from the tall glass at his elbow, emptying +it. "Fix me up another of these, Frank," he said. "I feel like a new +man, already." Then his face clouded again. "But we have no time to +prepare a speech, now, and I just can't ad lib one." + +Cardon drew a little half-inch record-disk from his pocket case. + +"Play this off," he said. "I had it fixed up, as soon as I got wise to +what was going to happen. The voice is one of the girls in my office, +over at the brewery. Pronunciation, grammar, elocution and everything +correct." + +Pelton snapped the disk onto his recorder and put in the ear plug. +Then, before he pressed the stud, he looked at Cardon curiously. + +"How'd you get onto this, anyhow, Frank?" he wanted to know. + +"Well ... I hope you don't ask me for an accounting of all the money +I've been spending in this campaign, because some of the items would +look funny as hell, but--" + +"No accounting, Frank. After all, you spent as much of your own money +as you did of mine," Pelton interrupted. + +"... But I bought myself a pipe line into Literates' Hall big enough +to chase an elephant through," Cardon went on, ignoring the +interruption. "This fellow Mongery, for instance." Elliot Mongery was +one of Literate Frank Cardon's best friends; he comforted his +conscience with the knowledge that Mongery would slander him just as +unscrupulously, if the interests of the Lancedale Plan were at stake. +"I have Mongery just like this." He made a clutching and lifting +gesture, as though he were picking up some small animal by the scruff +of the neck. "So, as soon as I got word of it, I started getting this +thing together. It isn't the kind of a job a Literate semanticist +would do, but it's all honest Illiterate thinking, in Illiterate +language. Turn it on, and tell me what you think of it." + +While Pelton listened to the record, Cardon mixed him another of the +highballs, adding a little of the heart-stimulant the medic had given +him. Pelton was grinning savagely when he turned off the little +machine and took out the ear plug. + +"Great stuff, Frank! And I won't have to ham it much; it's just about +the way I feel." He thought for a moment. "You have me talking about +my ruined store, there. Just how bad is it, anyhow?" + +"Pretty bad, Chet. Latterman says it's going to take some time to get +it fixed up, but he expects to be open for business by Thursday or +Friday. He's going to put on a big Battle Sale; he says it's going to +make retail-merchandising history. And the insurance covers most of +the damage." + +"Well, tell me about it. How did you get the riot stopped, after you +got me out? And how did you--?" + +Cardon shook his head. "You play that record over again; get yourself +in the mood. When you go on, we'll have you in a chair, wrapped in a +blanket ... you're supposed to have crawled back out of the Valley of +the Shadow of Death to make this speech ... and we'll have the wire +run down inside the blanket, so that you can listen to the speech +while you're giving it. Chet, this is going to be one of the great +political speeches of all time--" + + * * * * * + +Literate William R. Lancedale looked up from his desk and greeted his +visitor with a smile. + +"Well, Frank! Sit down and accept congratulations! I suppose you got +the returns?" + +Cardon nodded, dropping into a chair beside the desk. "Just came from +campaign headquarters. This automatic tally system they use on the +voting machines is really something. Complete returns tabulated and +reported for the whole state within forty minutes after the polls +closed. I won't be silly enough to ask you if you got the returns." + +"I deserved that, of course," Lancedale chuckled. "Can I offer you +refreshment? A nice big stein of Cardon's Black Bottle, for instance?" + +Cardon shuddered and grimaced horribly. "I've been drinking that slop +by the bucketful, all day. And Pelton's throwing a victory party, +tonight, and I'll have to choke down another half gallon of it. Give +me a cup of coffee, and one of those good cigars of yours." + +Lancedale grinned at him. "Ah, yes, the jolly brewer. His own best +advertisement. How's Pelton reacting to his triumph? And what's his +attitude toward his children? I've been worrying about that; vestigial +traces of a conscience, I suppose." + +"Well, I had to keep him steamed up, till after he went off the air," +Cardon said. "Chet isn't a very good actor. But after that, I talked +to him like a Dutch uncle. Told him what a swell pair of kids and a +fine son-in-law he had. He got sore at me. Tried to throw me out of +the house, a couple of times. I was afraid he was going to have +another of those attacks. But by the time Ralph and Claire get back +from their honeymoon and Ray finishes that cram-course for Literate +prep school, he'll be ready to confer the paternal blessing all +around. I'm going to stay in town and make sure of it, and then I'm +taking about a month's vacation." + +"You've earned it, all right." Lancedale poured Cardon's coffee and +passed him the cigar humidor. "How's Pelton's attitude toward the +Consolidated Illiterates' Organization, now?" + +Cardon, having picked up the Italian stiletto to puncture his cigar, +looked at it carefully to make sure that it really had no edge, and +then drew it quickly across his throat. + +"Just like that. You know what really happened, yesterday afternoon, +at the store, don't you?" + +"Well, in general, yes. I wish you'd fill me in on some of the +details, though, Frank." + +"Details he wants. Well." Cardon blew on his coffee and sipped it. +"The way we played it for propaganda purposes, of course, there was +only one big riot, and it was all the work of the wicked Literates and +their Independent-Conservative hirelings. Actually, there were two +riots. First, there was one the Independents had planned for about a +week in advance; that was the one Sforza tipped us on, the one that +started in China. Graves knew about it, enough to advise Latterman to +get all the Literates out of the store before noon, which Latterman +did, with trimmings. + +"Then, there was another riot, masterminded by a couple of +Illiterates' Organization Action Committee people named Joe West and +Horace Yingling, both deceased. That was the result of Latterman's +bright idea to trap Claire and/or me into betraying Literacy. These +Illiterate fanatics made up their minds, to speak rather loosely, that +the whole Pelton family were Literates, including Chet himself. They +decided that it was better to kill off their candidate and use him for +a martyr two years from now than to elect him and have him sell them +out. They got about a hundred or so of their goons dressed in +Independent-Conservative KKK costumes, bought air support from Patsy +Callazo's mob, up in Vermont, and made that attack on the top landing +stage, after starting a fake riot in North Jersey, to draw off the +regular Radical-Socialist storm troops. Incidentally, when I found out +it was Callazo's gang that furnished those fighter bombers, I hired +another mob to go up and drop a block-buster on Callazo's field, to +teach him to keep his schnozzle out of politics." + +Lancedale nodded briskly. "That I approve of. How about West and +Yingling?" + +"Prestonby's muscle man, Yetsko, killed West. I took care of Comrade +Yingling, myself, after I'd gotten reinforcements to the store--first +a couple of free-lance storm troops that the insurance company hired, +and then as many of the Radical Rangers as I could gather up." + +"And Pelton knows about all this?" + +"He certainly does! After this caper, the Illiterates' Organization's +through, as far as any consideration or patronage from the Radicals is +concerned." + +"Well, that's pretty nearly the best thing I've heard out of the whole +business," Lancedale said. "In about eight or ten years, we may want +to pull the Independent-Conservative party together again, to cash in +on public dissatisfaction with Pelton's socialized Literacy program, +which ought to be coming apart at the seams by then. And if we have +the Illiterates split into two hostile factions--" + +Cardon finished his coffee. "Well, chief, I've got to be getting +along. O'Reilly can only cover me for a short while, and I have to be +getting to this victory party of Pelton's--" + +Lancedale rose and shook hands with him. "I can't tell you, too many +times, what a fine job you did, Frank," he said. "I hope ... no, +knowing you, I'm positive ... that you'll be able to engineer a +reconciliation between Pelton and his son and daughter and young +Prestonby. And then, have yourself a good vacation." + +"I mean to. I'm going deer hunting, to a place up in the mountains, +along the old Pennsylvania-New York state line. A little community of +about a thousand people, where everybody, men, women and children, can +read." + +Lancedale was interested. "A community of Literates?" + +Cardon shook his head. "Not Literates-with-a-big-L; just people who +can read and write," he replied. "It's a kind of back-eddy sort of +place, and I imagine, a couple of hundred years ago, the community was +too poor to support one of these 'progressive' school systems that +made Illiterates out of the people in the cities. Probably couldn't +raise enough money in school taxes to buy all the expensive +audio-visual equipment, so they had to use old-fashioned textbooks, +and teach the children to read from them. They have radios, and TV, of +course, but they also have a little daily paper, and they have a +community library." + +Lancedale was thoughtful, for a moment. "You know, Frank, there must +be quite a few little enclaves of lower-case-literacy like that, in +back-woods and mountain communities, especially in the west and the +south. I'm going to make a project of finding such communities, +helping them, and getting recruits from them. They'll fit into the +Plan. Well, I'll be seeing you some time tomorrow, I suppose?" + +He watched Cardon go out, and then poured a glass of port for himself +and sipped slowly, holding the glass to the light and watching the +ruby glow it cast on the desk top. It had been over thirty years ago, +when he had been old Jules de Chambord's assistant, that the Plan had +been first conceived. De Chambord was dead these twenty years, and he +had taken the old man's place, and they had only made the first step. +Things would move faster, now, but he would still die before the Plan +was completed, and Frank Cardon, whom he had marked as his successor, +would be an old man, and somebody like young Ray Pelton would be ready +to replace him, but the Plan would go on, until everybody would be +literate, not Literate, and illiteracy, not Illiteracy, would be a +mark of social stigma, and most people would live their whole lives +without personal acquaintance with an illiterate. + +There were a few years, yet, to prepare for the next step. The white +smocks would have to go; Literates would have to sacrifice their +paltry titles and distinctions. There would have to be a +re-constitution of the Fraternities. Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves +and the other Conservative Literates would have to be convinced, +emotionally as well as intellectually, of the need for change. There +were a few of the older brothers who could never adjust their +thinking; they would have to be promoted to positions with higher +salaries and more impressive titles and no authority whatever. + +But that was all a matter of tactics; the younger men, like Frank +Cardon and Elliot Mongery and Ralph Prestonby, could take care of +that. Certain changes would occur: A stable and peaceful order of +society, for one thing. A rule of law, and the liquidation of these +goon gangs and storm troops and private armies. If a beginning at that +were made tomorrow, using the battle at Pelton's store to mobilize +public opinion, it would still take two decades to get anything really +significant done. And a renaissance of technological and scientific +progress--Today, the manufacturers changed the 'copter models twice a +year--and, except for altering the shape of a few chromium-plated +excrescences or changing the contours slightly, they were the same +'copters that had been buzzing over the country at the time of the +Third World War. Every month, the pharmaceutical companies announced a +new wonder drug--and if it wasn't sulfa, it was penicillin, and if it +wasn't penicillin it would be aureomycin. Why, most of the scientific +research was being carried on by a few Literates in the basements of a +few libraries, re-discovering the science of two centuries ago. + +He sighed, and finished his port, and, as he did probably once every +six months, he re-filled the glass. He'd be seventy-two next birthday. +Maybe he'd live long enough to see-- + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Null-ABC, by +Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuire + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NULL-ABC *** + +***** This file should be named 18346-8.txt or 18346-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/4/18346/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Beam Piper And John J. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Null-ABC + +Author: Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuire + +Illustrator: van Dongen + +Release Date: May 8, 2006 [EBook #18346] +[Last updated: June 29, 2014] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NULL-ABC *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<p class="tr">Transcriber's note: <br /> + This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction, February and March, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + + + + + +<h1>NULL-ABC</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>BY H. BEAM PIPER AND JOHN J. McGUIRE</h2> +<p> </p> + + +<p class="blockquot"> +<i>There's some reaction these days that<br /> + +holds scientists responsible for war. Take it one step further:<br /> + +What happens if "book-learnin'" is held responsible ...?</i></p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">Illustrated by van Dongen +</p> + +<p> </p> +<hr style="width:65%" /> +<p>Chester Pelton retracted his paunch as far as the breakfast seat would +permit; the table, its advent preceded by a collection of +mouth-watering aromas, slid noiselessly out of the pantry and clicked +into place in front of him.</p> + +<p>"Everything all right, Miss Claire?" a voice floated out after it from +beyond. "Anything else you want?"</p> + +<p>"Everything's just fine, Mrs. Harris," Claire replied. "I suppose Mr. +Pelton'll want seconds, and Ray'll probably want thirds and fourths of +everything." She waved a hand over the photocell that closed the +pantry door, and slid into place across from her brother, who already +had a glass of fruit juice in one hand and was lifting platter covers +with the other.</p> + +<p>"Real eggs!" the boy was announcing. "Bacon. Wheat-bread toast." He +looked again. "Hey, Sis, is this real cow-made butter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Now go ahead and eat."</p> + +<p>As though Ray needed encouragement, Chester Pelton thought, watching +his son use a spoon—the biggest one available—to dump gobs of honey +on his toast. While he was helping himself to bacon and eggs, he could +hear Ray's full-mouthed exclamation: "This is real bee-comb honey, +too!" That pleased him. The boy was a true Pelton; only needed one +bite to distinguish between real and synthetic food.</p> + +<p>"Bet this breakfast didn't cost a dollar under five C," Ray continued, +a little more audibly, between bites.</p> + + + +<p>That was another Pelton trait; even at fifteen, the boy was learning +the value of money. Claire seemed to disapprove, however.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Ray; try not to always think of what things cost," she reproved.</p> + +<p>"If I had all she spends on natural food, I could have a this-season's +model 'copter-bike, like Jimmy Hartnett," Ray continued.</p> + +<p>Pelton frowned. "I don't want you running around with that boy, Ray," +he said, his mouth full of bacon and eggs. Under his daughter's look +of disapproval, he swallowed hastily, then continued: "He's not the +sort of company I want my son keeping."</p> + +<p>"But, Senator," Ray protested. "He lives next door to us. Why, we can +see Hartnett's aerial from the top of our landing stage!"</p> + +<p>"That doesn't matter," he said, in a tone meant to indicate that the +subject was not to be debated. "He's a Literate!"</p> + +<p>"More eggs, Senator?" Claire asked, extending the platter and +gesturing with the serving knife.</p> + +<p>He chuckled inwardly. Claire always knew what to do when his temper +started climbing to critical mass. He allowed her to load his plate +again.</p> + +<p>"And speaking of our landing stage, have you been up there, this +morning, Ray?" he asked.</p> + +<p>They both looked at him inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Delivered last evening, while you two were out," he explained. "New +winter model Rolls-Cadipac." He felt a glow of paternal pleasure as +Claire gave a yelp of delight and aimed a glancing kiss at the top of +his bald head. Ray dropped his fork, slid from his seat, and bolted +for the lift, even bacon, eggs, and real bee-comb honey forgotten.</p> + +<p>With elaborate absent-mindedness, Chester Pelton reached for the +switch to turn on the video screen over the pantry door.</p> + +<p>"Oh-oh! Oh-oh!" Claire's slender hand went out to stop his own. "Not +till coffee and cigarettes, Senator."</p> + +<p>"It's almost oh-eight-fifteen; I want the newscast."</p> + +<p>"Can't you just relax for a while? Honestly, Senator, you're killing +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, rubbish! I've been working a little hard, but—"</p> + +<p>"You've been working too hard. And today, with the sale at the store, +and the last day of the campaign—"</p> + +<p>"Why the devil did that idiot of a Latterman have the sale advertised +for today, anyhow?" he fumed. "Doesn't he know I'm running for the +Senate?"</p> + +<p>"I doubt it," Claire said. "He may have heard of it, the way you've +heard about an election in Pakistan or Abyssinia, or he just may not +know there is such a thing as politics. I think he does know there's a +world outside the store, but he doesn't care much what goes on in it." +She pushed her plate aside, poured a cup of coffee, and levered a +cigarette from the Readilit, puffing at it with the relish of the +morning's first smoke. "All he knows is that we're holding our sale +three days ahead of Macy & Gimbel's."</p> + +<p>"Russ is a good businessman," Pelton said seriously. "I wish you'd +take a little more interest in him, Claire."</p> + +<p>"If you mean what I think you do, no thanks," Claire replied. "I +suppose I'll get married, some day—most girls do—but it'll be to +somebody who can hang his business up at the office before he comes +home. Russ Latterman is so married to the store that if he married me +too, it'd be bigamy. Ready for your coffee?" Without waiting for an +answer, she filled his cup and ejected a lighted cigarette from the +box for him, then snapped on the video screen.</p> + +<p>It lit at once, and a nondescriptly handsome young man was grinning +toothily out of it. He wore a white smock, halfway to his knees, and, +over it, an old-fashioned Sam Browne belt which supported a bulky +leather-covered tablet and a large stylus. On the strap which crossed +his breast five or six little metal badges twinkled.</p> + +<p>"... Why no other beer can compare with delicious, tangy, Cardon's +Black Bottle. Won't you try it?" he pleaded. "Then you will see for +yourself why millions of happy drinkers always Call For Cardon's. And +now, that other favorite of millions, Literate First Class Elliot C. +Mongery."</p> + +<p>Pelton muttered: "Why Frank sponsors that blabbermouth of a Mongery—"</p> + +<p>Ray, sliding back onto the bench, returned to his food.</p> + +<p>"Jimmy's book had pictures," he complained, forking up another mixture +of eggs, bacon, toast and honey.</p> + +<p>"Book?" Claire echoed. "Oh, the instructions for the 'copter?"</p> + +<p>"Pipe down, both of you!" Pelton commanded. "The newscast—"</p> + +<p>Literate First Class Elliot C. Mongery, revealed by a quick left +quarter-turn of the pickup camera, wore the same starchy white smock, +the same Sam Browne belt glittering with the badges of the +organizations and corporations for whom he was authorized to practice +Literacy. The tablet on his belt, Pelton knew, was really a +camouflaged holster for a small automatic, and the gold stylus was a +gas-projector. The black-leather-jacketed bodyguards, of course, were +discreetly out of range of the camera. Members of the Associated +Fraternities of Literates weren't exactly loved by the non-reading +public they claimed to serve. The sight of one of those starchy, +perpetually-spotless, white smocks always affected Pelton like a red +cape to a bull. He snorted in disdain. The raised eyebrow toward the +announcer on the left, the quick, perennially boyish smile, followed +by the levelly serious gaze into the camera—the whole act might have +been a film-transcription of Mongery's first appearance on the video, +fifteen years ago. At least, it was off the same ear of corn.</p> + +<p>"That big hunk of cheese," Ray commented. For once, Pelton didn't +shush him; that was too close to his own attitude, at least in +family-breakfast-table terminology.</p> + +<p>"... First of all; for the country, and especially the Newer New York +area, and by the way, it looks as though somebody thought somebody +needed a little cooling off, but we'll come to that later. Here's the +forecast: Today and tomorrow, the weather will continue fine; warm in +the sun, chilly in the shadows. There won't be anything to keep you +from the polls, tomorrow, except bird-hunting, or a last chance at a +game of golf. This is the first time within this commentator's memory +that the weather has definitely been in favor of the party out of +power.</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_004.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="411" /></p> +<p>"On the world scene: You'll be glad to hear that the survivors of the +wrecked strato-rocket have all been rescued from the top of Mount +Everest, after a difficult and heroic effort by the Royal Nepalese Air +Force.... The results of last week's election in Russia are being +challenged by twelve of the fourteen parties represented on the +ballot; the only parties not hurling accusations of fraud are the +Democrats, who won, and the Christian Communists, who are about as +influential in Russian politics as the Vegetarian-Anti-Vaccination +Party is here.... The Central Diplomatic Council of the Reunited +Nations has just announced, for the hundred and seventy-eighth time, +that the Arab-Israel dispute has been finally, definitely and +satisfactorily settled. This morning's reports from Baghdad and Tel +Aviv only list four Arabs and six Israelis killed in border clashes in +the past twenty-four hours, so maybe they're really getting things +patched up, after all. During the same period, there were more +fatalities in Newer New York as a result of clashes between the +private troops of rival racket gangs, political parties and business +houses.</p> + +<p>"Which brings us to the local scene. On my way to the studio this +morning, I stopped at City Hall, and found our genial Chief of Police +Delaney, 'Irish' Delaney to most of us, hard at work with a portable +disintegrator, getting rid of record disks and recording tapes of old +and long-settled cases. He had a couple of amusing stories. For +instance, a lone Independent-Conservative partisan broke up a +Radical-Socialist mass meeting preparatory to a march to demonstrate +in Double Times Square, by applying his pocket lighter to one of the +heat-sensitive boxes in the building and activating the sprinkler +system. By the time the Radicals had gotten into dry clothing, there +was a, well, sort of, impromptu Conservative demonstration going on in +Double Times Square, and one of the few things the local gendarmes +won't stand for is an attempt to hold two rival political meetings in +the same area.</p> + +<p>"Curiously, while it was the Radicals who got soaked, it was the +Conservatives who sneezed," Mongery went on, his face glowing with +mischievous amusement. "It seems that while they were holding a +monster rally at Hague Hall, in North Jersey Borough, some person or +persons unknown got at the air-conditioning system with a tank of +sneeze gas, which didn't exactly improve either the speaking style of +Senator Grant Hamilton or the attentiveness of his audience. Needless +to say, there is no police investigation of either incident. Election +shenanigans, like college pranks, are fair play as long as they don't +cause an outright holocaust. And that, I think, is as it should be," +Mongery went on, more seriously. "Most of the horrors of the Twentieth +and Twenty-first Centuries were the result of taking politics too +seriously."</p> + +<p>Pelton snorted again. That was the Literate line, all right; treat +politics as a joke and an election as a sporting event, let the +Independent-Conservative grafters stay in power, and let the Literates +run the country through them. Not, of course, that he disapproved of +those boys in the Young Radical League who'd thought up that +sneeze-gas trick.</p> + +<p>"And now, what you've been waiting for," Mongery continued. "The final +Trotter Poll's pre-election analysis." A novice Literate advanced, +handing him a big loose-leaf book, which he opened with the reverence +a Literate always displayed toward the written word. "This," he said, +"is going to surprise you. For the whole state of Penn-Jersey-York, +the poll shows a probable Radical-Socialist vote of approximately +thirty million, an Independent-Conservative vote of approximately ten +and a half million, and a vote of about a million for what we call the +Who-Gives-A-Damn Party, which, frankly, is the party of your +commentator's choice. Very few sections differ widely from this +average—there will be a much heavier Radical vote in the Pittsburgh +area, and traditionally Conservative Philadelphia and the upper Hudson +Valley will give the Radicals a much smaller majority."</p> + +<p>They all looked at one another, thunderstruck.</p> + +<p>"If Mongery's admitting that, I'm in!" Pelton exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, we can start calling him Senator, now, and really mean it," Ray +said. "Maybe old Mongie isn't such a bad sort of twerp, after all."</p> + +<p>"Considering that the Conservatives carried this state by a +substantial majority in the presidential election of two years ago, +and by a huge majority in the previous presidential election of 2136," +Mongery, in the screen, continued, "this verdict of the almost +infallible Trotter Poll needs some explaining. For the most part, it +is the result of the untiring efforts of one man, the dynamic new +leader of the Radical-Socialists and their present candidate for the +Consolidated States of North America Senate, Chester Pelton, who has +transformed that once-moribund party into the vital force it is today. +And this achievement has been due, very largely, to a single slogan +which he had hammered into your ears: <i>Put the Literates in their +place; our servants, not our masters!</i>" He brushed a hand +deprecatingly over his white smock and fingered the badges on his +belt.</p> + +<p>"There has always been, on the part of the Illiterate public, some +resentment against organized Literacy. In part, it has been due to the +high fees charged for Literate services, and to what seems, to many, +to be monopolistic practices. But behind that is a general attitude of +anti-intellectualism which is our heritage from the disastrous wars of +the Twentieth and Twenty-first Centuries. Chester Pelton has made +himself the spokesman of this attitude. In his view, it was men who +could read and write who hatched the diabolical political ideologies +and designed the frightful nuclear weapons of that period. In his +mind, Literacy is equated with '<i>Mein Kampf</i>' and '<i>Das Kapital</i>', +with the A-bomb and the H-bomb, with concentration camps and blasted +cities. From this position, of course, I beg politely to differ. +Literate men also gave us the Magna Charta and the Declaration of +Independence.</p> + +<p>"Now, in spite of a lunatic fringe in the Consolidated Illiterates' +Organization who want just that, Chester Pelton knows that we cannot +abolish Literacy entirely. Even with modern audio-visual recording, +need exists for some modicum of written recording, which can be +rapidly scanned and selected from—indexing, cataloguing, tabulating +data, et cetera—and for at least a few men and women who can form and +interpret the written word. Mr. Pelton, himself, is the owner of a +huge department store, employing over a thousand Illiterates; he must +at all times have the services of at least fifty Literates."</p> + +<p>"And pays through the nose for them, too!" Pelton growled. It was more +than fifty; and Russ Latterman had been forced to get twenty extras +sent in for the sale.</p> + +<p>"Now, since we cannot renounce Literacy entirely, without sinking to +<i>fellahin</i> barbarism, and here I definitely part company with Mr. +Pelton, he fears the potential power of organized Literacy. In a word, +he fears a future Literate Dictatorship."</p> + +<p>"Future? What do you think we have now?" Pelton demanded.</p> + +<p>"Nobody," Mongery said, as though replying to him, "is stupid enough, +today, to want to be a dictator. That ended by the middle of the +Twenty-first Century. Everybody knows what happened to Mussolini, and +Hitler, and Stalin, and all their imitators. Why, it is as much the +public fear of Big Government as the breakdown of civil power because +of the administrative handicap of a shortage of Literate +administrators that is responsible for the disgraceful lawlessness of +the past hundred years. Thus, it speaks well for the public trust in +Chester Pelton's known integrity and sincerity that so many of our +people are willing to agree to his program for socialized Literacy. +They feel that he can be trusted, and, violently as I disagree with +him, I can only say that that trust is not misplaced.</p> + +<p>"Of course, there is also the question, so often raised by Mr. Pelton, +that under the Hamilton machine, the politics, and particularly the +enforcement of the laws, in this state, are unbelievably corrupt, but +I wonder—"</p> + +<p>Mongery paused. "Just a moment; I see a flash bulletin being brought +in." The novice Literate came to his side and gave him a slip of +paper, at which he glanced. Then he laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"It seems that shortly after I began speaking, the local blue-ribbon +grand jury issued a summons for Chief Delaney to appear before them, +with all his records. Unfortunately, the summons could not be served; +Chief Delaney had just boarded a strato-rocket from Tom Dewey Field +for Buenos Aires." He cocked an eye at the audience. "I know Irish is +going to have a nice time, down there in the springtime of the +Southern Hemisphere. And, incidentally, the Argentine is one of the +few major powers which never signed the World Extradition Convention +of 2087." He raised his hand to his audience. "And now, until tomorrow +at breakfast, sincerely yours for Cardon's Black Bottle, Elliot C. +Mongery."</p> + +<p>"Well, whattaya know; that guy was plugging for you!" Ray said. "And +see how he managed to slide in that bit about corruption, right before +his stooge handed him that bulletin?"</p> + +<p>"I guess every Literate has his price," Chester Pelton said. "I wonder +how much of my money that cost. I always wondered why Frank Cardon +sponsored Mongery. Now I know. Mongery can be had."</p> + +<p>"Uh, beg your pardon, Mr. Pelton," a voice from the hall broke in.</p> + +<p>He turned. Olaf Olafsson, the 'copter driver, was standing at the +entrance to the breakfast nook, a smudge of oil on his cheek and his +straw-colored hair in disorder. "How do I go about startin' this new +'copter?"</p> + +<p>"What?" Olaf had been his driver for ten years. He would have been +less surprised had the ceiling fallen in. "You don't know how to start +it?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. The controls is all different from on the summer model. +Every time I try to raise it, it backs up; if I try to raise it much +more, we won't have no wall left on the landing stage."</p> + +<p>"Well, isn't there a book?"</p> + +<p>"There ain't no pictures in it; nothing but print. It's a Literate +book," Olaf said in disgust, as though at something obscene. "An' +there ain't nothin' on the instrument board but letters."</p> + +<p>"That's right," Ray agreed. "I saw the book; no pictures in it at +all."</p> + +<p>"Well, of all the quarter-witted stupidity! The confounded imbeciles +at that agency—"</p> + +<p>Pelton started to his feet. Claire unlocked the table and slid it out +of his way. Ray, on a run, started for the lift and vanished.</p> + +<p>"I think some confounded Literate at the Rolls-Cadipac agency did +that," he fumed. "Thought it would be a joke to send me a Literate +instruction book along with a 'copter with a Literate instrument +board. Ah, I get it! So I'd have to call in a Literate to show me how +to start my own 'copter, and by noon they'd be laughing about it in +every bar from Pittsburgh to Plattsburg. Sneaky Literate trick!" They +went to the lift, and found the door closed in their faces. "Oh, +confound that boy!"</p> + +<p>Claire pressed the button. Ray must have left the lift, for the +operating light went on, and in a moment the door opened. He crowded +into the lift, along with his daughter and Olaf.</p> + +<p>On the landing stage, Ray was already in the 'copter, poking at +buttons on the board.</p> + +<p>"Look, Olaf!" he called. "They just shifted them around a little from +the summer model. This one, where the prop-control used to be on the +old model, is the one that backs it up on the ground. Here's the one +that erects and extends the prop,"—he pushed it, and the prop snapped +obediently into place—"and here's the one that controls the lift."</p> + +<p>An ugly suspicion stabbed at Chester Pelton, bringing with it a +feeling of frightened horror.</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>Ray's eyes remained on the instrument hoard. He pushed another button, +and the propeller began swinging in a lazy circle; he pressed down +with his right foot, and the 'copter lifted a foot or so.</p> + +<p>"What?" he asked. "Oh, Jimmy showed me how theirs works. Mr. Hartnett +got one like it a week ago." He motioned to Olaf, setting the 'copter +down again. "Come here; I'll show you."</p> + +<p>The suspicion, and the horror passed in a wave of relief.</p> + +<p>"You think you and Olaf, between you, can get that thing to school?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Sure! Easy!"</p> + +<p>"All right. You show Olaf how to run it. Olaf, as soon as you've +dropped Ray at school, take that thing to the Rolls-Cadipac agency, +and get a new one, with a proper instrument board, and a proper +picture book of operating instructions. I'm going to call Sam Huschack +up personally and give him royal hell about this. Sure you can handle +it, now?"</p> + +<p>He watched the 'copter rise to the two thousand foot local traffic +level and turn in the direction of Mineola High School, fifty miles +away. He was still looking anxiously after it as it dwindled to a tiny +dot and vanished.</p> + +<p>"They'll make it all right," Claire told him. "Olaf has a strong back, +and Ray has a good head."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't that that I was worried about." He turned and looked, half +ashamed, at his daughter. "You know, for a minute, there, I thought +... I thought Ray could read!"</p> + +<p>"Father!" She was so shocked that she forgot the nickname they had +given him when he had announced his candidacy for Senate, in the +spring. "You didn't!"</p> + +<p>"I know; it's an awful thing to think, but—Well, the kids today do +the craziest things. There's that Hartnett boy he runs around with; +Tom Hartnett bought Literate training for him. And that fellow +Prestonby; I don't trust him—"</p> + +<p>"Prestonby?" Claire asked, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you know. The principal at school. You've met him."</p> + +<p>Claire wrinkled her brow—just like her mother, when she was trying to +remember something.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I met him at that P.T.A. meeting. He didn't impress me as +being much like a teacher, but I suppose they think anything's good +enough for us Illiterates."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby remained standing by the +lectern, looking out over the crowded auditorium, still pleasantly +surprised to estimate the day's attendance at something like +ninety-seven per cent of enrollment. That was really good; why, it was +only three per cent short of perfect! Maybe it was the new rule +requiring a sound-recorded excuse for absence. Or it could have been +his propaganda campaign about the benefits of education. Or, very +easily, it could have been the result of sending Doug Yetsko and some +of his boys around to talk to recalcitrant parents. It was good to see +that that was having some effect beside an increase in the number of +attempts on his life, or the flood of complaints to the Board of +Education. Well, Lancedale had gotten Education merged with his +Office of Communications, and Lancedale was back of him to the limit, +so the complaints had died out on the empty air. And Doug Yetsko was +his bodyguard, so most of the would-be assassins had died, also.</p> + +<p>The "North American Anthem," which had replaced the "Star-Spangled +Banner" after the United States-Canadian-Mexican merger, came to an +end. The students and their white-smocked teachers, below, relaxed +from attention; most of them sat down, while monitors and teachers in +the rear were getting the students into the aisles and marching them +off to study halls and classrooms and workshops. The orchestra struck +up a lively march tune. He leaned his left elbow—Literates learned +early, or did not live to learn, not to immobilize the right hand—on +the lectern and watched the interminable business of getting the +students marched out, yearning, as he always did at this time, for the +privacy of his office, where he could smoke his pipe. Finally, they +were all gone, and the orchestra had gathered up its instruments and +filed out into the wings of the stage, and he looked up to the left +and said, softly:</p> + +<p>"All right, Doug; show's over."</p> + +<p>With a soft thud, the big man dropped down from the guard's cubicle +overhead, grinning cheerfully. He needed a shave—Yetsko always did, +in the mornings—and in his leather Literates' guard uniform, he +looked like some ogreish giant out of the mythology of the past.</p> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_023.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="862" /></div> + +<p>"I was glad to have you up there with the Big Noise, this morning," +Prestonby said. "What a mob! I'm still trying to figure out why we +have such an attendance."</p> + +<p>"Don't you get it, captain?" Yetsko was reaching up to lock the door +of his cubicle; he seemed surprised at Prestonby's obtuseness. "Day +before election; the little darlings' moms and pops don't want them +out running around. We can look for another big crowd tomorrow, too."</p> + +<p>Prestonby gave a snort of disgust. "Of course; how imbecilic can I +really get? I didn't notice any of them falling down, so I suppose you +didn't see anything out of line."</p> + +<p>"Well, the hall monitors make them turn in their little playthings at +the doors," Yetsko said, "but hall monitors can be gotten at, and some +of the stuff they make in Manual Training, when nobody's watching +them—"</p> + +<p>Prestonby nodded. Just a week before, a crude but perfectly operative +17-mm shotgun had been discovered in the last stages of manufacture in +the machine shop, and five out of six of the worn-out files would +vanish, to be ground down into dirks. He often thought of the stories +of his grandfather, who had been a major during the Occupation of +Russia, after the Fourth World War. Those old-timers didn't know how +easy they'd had it; they should have tried to run an Illiterate high +school.</p> + +<p>Yetsko was still grumbling slanders on the legitimacy of the student +body. "One of those little angels shoots me, it's just a cute little +prank, and we oughtn't to frown on the little darling when it's just +trying to express its dear little personality, or we might give it +complexes, or something," he falsettoed incongruously. "And if the +little darling's mistake doesn't kill me outright and I shoot back, +people talk about King Herod!" He used language about the Board of +Education and the tax-paying public that was probably subversive +within the meaning of the Loyalty Oath. "I wish I had a pair of 40-mm +auto-cannons up there, instead of that sono gun."</p> + +<p>"Each class is a little worse than the one before; in about five +years, they'll be making H-bombs in the lab," Prestonby said. In the +last week, a dozen pupils had been seriously cut or blackjacked in +hall and locker-room fights. "Nice citizens of the future; nice future +to look forward to growing old in."</p> + +<p>"We won't," Yetsko comforted him. "We can't be lucky all the time; in +about a year, they'll find both of us stuffed into a broom closet, +when they start looking around to see what's making all the stink."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Prestonby took the thick-barreled gas pistol from the shelf under the +lectern and shoved it into his hip pocket; Yetsko picked up a +two-and-a-half foot length of rubber hose and tucked it under his left +arm. Together, they went back through the wings and out into the +hallway that led to the office. So a Twenty-second Century high school +was a place where a teacher carried a pistol and a tear-gas projector +and a sleep-gas gun, and had a bodyguard, and still walked in danger +of his life from armed 'teen-age hooligans. It was meaningless to ask +whose fault it was. There had been the World Wars, and the cold-war +interbellum periods—rising birth rates, huge demands on the public +treasury for armaments, with the public taxed to the saturation point, +and no money left for the schools. There had been fantastic +"Progressive" education experiments—even in the 'Fifties of the +Twentieth Century, in the big cities, children were being pushed +through grade school without having learned to read. And when there +had been money available for education, school boards had insisted on +spending it for audio-visual equipment, recordings, films, anything +but textbooks. And there had been that lunatic theory that children +should be taught to read by recognizing whole words instead of +learning the alphabet. And more and more illiterates had been shoved +out of the schools, into a world where radio and television and moving +pictures were supplanting books and newspapers, and more and more +children of illiterates had gone to school without any desire or +incentive to learn to read. And finally, the illiterates had become +Illiterates, and literacy had become Literacy.</p> + +<p>And now, the Associated Fraternities of Literates had come to +monopolize the ability to read and write, and a few men like William +R. Lancedale, with a handful of followers like Ralph N. Prestonby, +were trying—</p> + +<p>The gleaming cleanliness of the corridor, as always, heartened +Prestonby a little; it was a trophy of victory from his first two days +at Mineola High School, three years ago. He remembered what they had +looked like when he had first seen them.</p> + +<p>"This school is a pig pen!" he had barked at the janitorial force. +"And even if they are Illiterates, these children aren't pigs; they +deserve decent surroundings. This school will be cleaned, immediately, +from top to bottom, and it'll be kept that way."</p> + +<p>The janitors, all political appointees, Independent-Conservative +party-hacks, secure in their jobs, had laughed derisively. The +building superintendent, without troubling to rise, had answered him:</p> + +<p>"Young man, you don't want to get off on the wrong foot, here," he had +said. "This here's the way this school's always been run, an' it's +gonna take a lot more than you to change it."</p> + +<p>The fellow's name, he recalled, was Kettner; Lancedale had given him +a briefing which had included some particulars about him. He was an +Independent-Conservative ward-committeeman. He had gotten his present +job after being fired from his former position as mailman for +listening to other peoples' mail with his pocket recorder-reproducer.</p> + +<p>"Yetsko," he had said. "Kick this bum out on his face."</p> + +<p>"You can't get away with—" Kettner had begun. Yetsko had yanked him +out of his chair with one hand and started for the door with him.</p> + +<p>"Just a moment, Yetsko," he had said.</p> + +<p>Thinking that he was backing down, they had all begun grinning at him.</p> + +<p>"Don't bother opening the door," he had said. "Just kick him out."</p> + +<p>After the third kick, Kettner had gotten the door open, himself; the +fourth kick sent him across the hall to the opposite wall. He pulled +himself to his feet and limped away, never to return. The next +morning, the school was spotless. It had stayed that way.</p> + +<p>Beside him, Yetsko must also have returned mentally to the past.</p> + +<p>"Looks better now than it did when we first saw it, captain," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It didn't take us as long to clean up this mess as it did to +clean up that mutinous guards company in Pittsburgh. But when we +cleaned that up, it stayed cleaned. This is like trying to bail out a +boat with a pitchfork."</p> + +<p>"Yeah. I wish we'dda stayed in Pittsburgh, captain. I wish we'd never +seen this place!"</p> + +<p>"So do I!" Prestonby agreed, heartily.</p> + +<p>No, he didn't, either. If he'd never have come to Mineola High School, +he'd never have found Claire Pelton.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Sitting down again at the breakfast table with her father, Claire +levered another cigarette out of the Readilit and puffed at it with +exaggeratedly bored slowness. She was still frightened. Ray shouldn't +have done what he did, even if he had furnished a plausible +explanation. The trouble with plausible explanations was having to +make them. Sooner or later, you made too many, and then you made one +that wasn't so plausible, and then all the others were remembered, and +they all looked phony. And why had the Senator had to mention Ralph? +Was he beginning to suspect the truth about that, too?</p> + +<p>I hope not! she thought desperately. If he ever found out about that, +it'd kill him. Just kill him, period!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harris must have turned off the video, after they had gone up to +the landing stage. To cover her nervousness, she reached up and +snapped it on again. The screen lit, and from it a young man with dark +eyes under bushy black brows was shouting angrily:</p> + +<p>"... Most obvious sort of conspiracy! If the Radical-Socialist Party +leaders, or the Consolidated Illiterates' Organization Political +Action Committee, need any further evidence of the character of their +candidate and idolized leader, Chester Pelton, the treatment given to +Pelton's candidacy by Literate First Class Elliot C. Mongery, this +morning, ought to be sufficient to remove the scales from the eyes of +the blindest of them. I won't state, in so many words, that Chester +Pelton's sold out the Radical-Socialists and the Consolidated +Illiterates' Organization to the Associated Fraternities of Literates, +because, since no witness to any actual transfer of money can be +found, such a statement would be libelous—provided Pelton had nerve +enough to sue me."</p> + +<p>"Why, you dirty misbegotten illegitimate—!" Pelton was on his feet. +His hand went to his hip, and then, realizing that he was unarmed and, +in any case, confronted only by an electronic image, he sat down +again.</p> + +<p>"Pelton's been yapping for socialized Literacy," the man on the screen +continued. "I'm not going back to the old argument that any kind of +socialization is only the thin edge of the wedge which will pry open +the pit of horrors from which the world has climbed since the Fourth +World War. If you don't realize that now, it's no use for me to +repeat it again. But I will ask you, do you realize, for a moment, +what a program of socialized Literacy would mean, apart from the +implications of any kind of socialization? It would mean that inside +of five years, the Literates would control the whole government. They +control the courts, now—only a Literate can become a lawyer, and only +a lawyer can become a judge. They control the armed forces—only a +Literate can enter West Point or Fort MacKenzie or Chapultepec or +White Sands or Annapolis. And, if Chester Pelton's socialization +scheme goes into effect, there will be no branch of the government +which will not be completely under the control of the Associated +Fraternities of Literates!"</p> + +<p>The screen went suddenly dark. Her father turned, to catch her with +her hand still on the switch.</p> + +<p>"Put it back on; I want to hear what that lying pimp of a Slade +Gardner's saying about me!"</p> + +<p>"Phooy; you'd have shot it out, yourself, if you'd had your gun on. I +saw you reaching for it. Now be quiet, and take it easy," she ordered.</p> + +<p>He reached toward the Readilit for a cigarette, then his hand stopped. +His face was contorted with pain; he gave a gasp of suffocation.</p> + +<p>Claire cried in dismay: "You're not going to have another of those +attacks? Where are the nitrocaine bulbs?"</p> + +<p>"Don't ... have any ... here. Some at the office, but—"</p> + +<p>"I told you to get more," she accused.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't need them, really." His voice was steadier, now; the +spasm of pain had passed. He filled his coffee cup and sipped from it. +"Turn on the video again, Claire. I want to hear what that Gardner's +saying."</p> + +<p>"I will not! Don't you have people at party headquarters monitoring +this stuff? Well, then. Somebody'll prepare an answer, if he needs +answering."</p> + +<p>"I think he does. A lot of these dumbos'll hear that and believe it. +I'll talk to Frank. He'll know what to do."</p> + +<p>Frank again. She frowned.</p> + +<p>"Look, Senator; you think Frank Cardon's your friend, but I don't +trust him. I never could," she said. "I think he's utterly and +entirely unscrupulous. Amoral, I believe, is the word. Like a savage, +or a pirate, or one of the old-time Nazis or Communists."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Claire!" her father protested. "Frank's in a tough business—you +have no idea the lengths competition goes to in the beer business—and +he's been in politics, and dealing with racketeers and labor unions, +all his life. But he's a good sound Illiterate—family Illiterate for +four generations, like ours—and I'd trust him with anything. You +heard this fellow Mongery—I always have to pause to keep from +calling him Mongrel—saying that I deserved the credit for pulling the +Radicals out of the mud and getting the party back on the tracks. +Well, I couldn't have begun to do it without Frank Cardon."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank Cardon stood on the sidewalk, looking approvingly into the +window of O'Reilly's Tavern, in which his display crew had already set +up the spread for the current week. On either side was a giant +six-foot replica, in black glass, of the Cardon bottle, in the +conventional shape accepted by an Illiterate public as containing +beer, bearing the red Cardon label with its pictured bottle in a +central white disk. Because of the heroic size of the bottles, the +pictured bottle on the label bore a bottle bearing a label bearing a +bottle bearing a bottle on a label.... He counted eight pictured +bottles, down to the tiniest dot of black. There were four-foot +bottles next to the six-foot bottles, and three-foot bottles next to +them, and, in the middle background, a life-size tri-dimensional +picture of an almost nude and incredibly pulchritudinous young lady +smiling in invitation at the passing throng and extending a foaming +bottle of Cardon's in her hand. Aside from the printed +trademark-registry statements on the labels, there was not a printed +word visible in the window.</p> + +<p>He pushed through the swinging doors and looked down the long room, +with the chairs still roosting sleepily on the tables, and made a +quick count of the early drinkers, two thirds of them in white smocks +and Sam Browne belts, obviously from Literates' Hall, across the +street. Late drinkers, he corrected himself mentally; they'd be the +night shift, having their drinks before going home.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mr. Cardon," the bartender greeted him. "Still drinking +your own?"</p> + +<p>"Hasn't poisoned me yet," Cardon told him. "Or anybody else." He +folded a C-bill accordion-wise and set it on edge on the bar. "Give +everybody what they want."</p> + +<p>"Drink up, gentlemen, and have one on Mr. Cardon," the bartender +announced, then lowered his voice. "O'Reilly wants to see you. +About—" He gave a barely perceptible nod in the direction of the +building across the street.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I want to see him, too." Cardon poured from the bottle in front +of him, accepted the thanks of the house, and, when the bartender +brought the fifteen-dollars-odd change from the dozen drinks, he +pushed it back.</p> + +<p>He drank slowly, looking around the room, then set down his empty +glass and went back, past two doors which bore pictured half-doors +revealing, respectively, masculine-trousered and feminine-stockinged +ankles, and opened the unmarked office door beyond. The bartender, he +knew, had pushed the signal button; the door was unlocked, and, +inside, O'Reilly—baptismal name Luigi Orelli—was waiting.</p> + +<p>"Chief wants to see you, right away," the saloon keeper said.</p> + +<p>The brewer nodded. "All right. Keep me covered; don't know how long +I'll be." He crossed the room and opened a corner-cupboard, stepping +inside.</p> + +<p>The corner cupboard, which was an elevator, took him to a tunnel below +the street. Across the street, he entered another elevator, set the +indicator for the tenth floor, and ascended. As the car rose, he could +feel the personality of Frank Cardon, Illiterate brewer, drop from +him, as though he were an actor returning from the stage to his +dressing room.</p> + +<p>The room into which he emerged was almost that. There was a long +table, at which two white-smocked Literates drank coffee and went over +some papers; a third Literate sprawled in a deep chair, resting; at a +small table, four men in black shirts and leather breeches and field +boots played poker, while a fifth, who had just entered and had not +yet removed his leather helmet and jacket or his weapons belt, stood +watching them.</p> + +<p>Cardon went to a row of lockers along the wall, opened one, and took +out a white smock, pulling it over his head and zipping it up to the +throat. Then he buckled on a Sam Browne with its tablet holster and +stylus gas projector. The Literate sprawling in the chair opened one +eye.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Frank. Feels good to have them on again, doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Clean," Cardon replied. "It'll be just for half an hour, but—"</p> + +<p>He passed through the door across from the elevator, went down a short +hall, and spoke in greeting to the leather-jacketed storm trooper on +guard outside the door at the other end.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Cardon," the guard nodded. "Mr. Lancedale's expecting you."</p> + +<p>"So I understand, Bert."</p> + +<p>He opened the door and went through. William R. Lancedale rose from +behind his desk and advanced to greet him with a quick handshake, +guiding him to a chair beside the desk. As he did, he sniffed and +raised an eyebrow.</p> + +<p>"Beer this early, Frank?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Morning, noon, and night, chief," Cardon replied. "When you said this +job was going to be dangerous, I didn't know you meant that it would +lead straight to an alcoholic's grave."</p> + +<p>"Let me get you a cup of coffee, and a cigar, then." The white-haired +Literate executive resumed his seat, passing a hand back and forth +slowly across the face of the commo, the diamond on his finger +twinkling, and gave brief instructions. "And just relax, for a minute. +You have a tough job, this time, Frank."</p> + +<p>They were both silent as a novice Literate bustled in with coffee and +individually-sealed cigars.</p> + +<p>"At least, you're not one of these plain-living-and-right-thinking +fanatics, like Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves," Cardon said. "On top +of everything else, that I could not take."</p> + +<p>Lancedale's thin face broke into a smile, little wrinkles putting his +mouth in parentheses. Cardon sampled the coffee, and then used a +Sixteenth Century Italian stiletto from Lancedale's desk to perforate +the end of his cigar.</p> + +<p>"Much as I hate it, I'll have to get out of here as soon as I can," he +said. "I don't know how long O'Reilly can keep me covered, down at the +tavern—"</p> + +<p>Lancedale nodded. "Well, how are things going, then?"</p> + +<p>"First of all, the brewery," Cardon began.</p> + +<p>Lancedale consigned the brewery to perdition. "That's just your cover; +any money it makes is purely irrelevant. How about the election?"</p> + +<p>"Pelton's in," Cardon said. "As nearly in as any candidate ever was +before the polls opened. Three months ago, the Independents were as +solid as Gibraltar used to be. Today, they look like Gibraltar after +that H-bomb hit it. The only difference is, they don't know what hit +them, yet."</p> + +<p>"Hamilton's campaign manager does," Lancedale said. "Did you hear his +telecast, this morning?"</p> + +<p>Cardon shook his head. Lancedale handed over a little half-inch, +thirty-minute, record disk.</p> + +<p>"All you need is the first three or four minutes," he said. "The rest +of it is repetition."</p> + +<p>Cardon put the disk in his pocket recorder and set it for play-back, +putting the plug in his ear. After a while, he shut it off and took +out the ear plug.</p> + +<p>"That's bad! What are we going to do about it?"</p> + +<p>Lancedale shrugged. "What are you going to do?" he countered. "You're +Pelton's campaign manager—Heaven pity him."</p> + +<p>Cardon thought for a moment. "We'll play it for laughs," he decided. +"Some of our semantics experts could make the joke of the year out of +it by the time the polls open tomorrow. The Fraternities bribing their +worst enemy to attack them, so that he can ruin their business; who's +been listening to a tape of 'Alice in Wonderland' at +Independent-Conservative headquarters?"</p> + +<p>"That would work," Lancedale agreed. "And we can count on our friends +Joyner and Graves to give you every possible assistance with their +customary bull-in-a-china-shop tactics. I suppose you've seen these +posters they've been plastering around: <i>If you can read this, +Chester Pelton is your sworn enemy! A vote for Pelton is a vote for +your own enslavement!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Naturally. And have you seen the telecast we've been using—a view of +it, with a semantically correct spoken paraphrase?"</p> + +<p>Lancedale nodded. "And I've also noticed that those posters have been +acquiring different obscene crayon-drawings, too. That's just typical +of the short-range Joyner-Graves mentality. Why, they've made more +votes for Pelton than he's made for himself. Is it any wonder we're +convinced that people like that aren't to be trusted to formulate the +future policy of the Fraternities?"</p> + +<p>"Well ... they've proved themselves wrong. I wonder, though, if we can +prove ourselves right, in the long run. There are times when this +thing scares me, chief. If anything went wrong—"</p> + +<p>"What, for instance?"</p> + +<p>"Somebody could get to Pelton." Cardon made a stabbing gesture with +the stiletto, which he still held. "Maybe you don't really know how +hot this thing's gotten. What we had to cut out of Mongery's report, +this morning—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've been keeping in touch," Lancedale understated gently.</p> + +<p>"Well then. If anything happened to Pelton, there wouldn't be a +Literate left alive in this city twelve hours later. And I question +whether or not Graves and Joyner know that."</p> + +<p>"I think they do. If they don't, it's not because I've failed to point +it out to them. Of course, there are the Independent-Conservative +grafters; a lot of them are beginning to hear jail doors opening for +them, and they're scared. But I think routine body-guarding ought to +protect Pelton from them, or from any isolated fanatics."</p> + +<p>"And there is also the matter of Pelton's daughter, and his son," +Cardon said. "We know, and Graves and Joyner know, and I assume that +Slade Gardner knows, that they can both read and write as well as any +Literate in the Fraternities. Suppose that got out between now and the +election?"</p> + +<p>"And that could not only hurt Pelton, but it would expose the work +we've been doing in the schools," Lancedale added. "And even inside +the Fraternities, that would raise the devil. Joyner and Graves don't +begin to realize how far we've gone with that. They could kick up a +simply hideous row about it!"</p> + +<p>"And if Pelton found out that his kids are Literates—<i>Woooo!</i>" Cardon +grimaced. "Or what we've been doing to him. I hope I'm not around when +that happens. I'm beginning to like the cantankerous old bugger."</p> + +<p>"I was afraid of that," Lancedale said. "Well, don't let it interfere +with what you have to do. Remember, Frank; the Plan has to come first, +always."</p> + +<p>He walked with O'Reilly to the street door, talking about tomorrow's +election; after shaking hands with the saloon keeper, he crossed the +sidewalk and stepped onto the beltway, moving across the strips until +he came to the twenty m.p.h. strip. The tall office buildings of upper +Yonkers Borough marched away as he stood on the strip, appreciatively +puffing at Lancedale's cigar. The character of the street changed; the +buildings grew lower, and the quiet and fashionable ground-floor shops +and cafés gave place to bargain stores, their audio-advertisers +whooping urgently about improbable prices and offerings, and garish, +noisy, crowded bars and cafeterias blaring recorded popular music. +There was quite a bit of political advertising in evidence—huge +pictures of the two major senatorial candidates. He estimated that +Chester Pelton's bald head and bulldog features appeared twice for +every one of Grant Hamilton's white locks, old-fashioned spectacles +and self-satisfied smirk.</p> + +<p>Then he came to the building on which he had parked his 'copter, and +left the beltway, entering and riding up to the landing stage on the +helical escalator. There seemed to have been some trouble; about a +dozen Independent-Conservative storm troopers, in their white robes +and hoods, with the fiery-cross emblem on their breasts, were bunched +together, most of them with their right hands inside their bosoms, +while a similar group of Radical-Conservative storm troopers, with +their black sombreros and little black masks, stood watching them and +fingering the white-handled pistols they wore in pairs on their belts. +Between the two groups were four city policemen, looking acutely +unhappy.</p> + +<p>The group in the Lone Ranger uniforms, he saw, were standing in front +of a huge tri-dimensional animated portrait of Chester Pelton. As he +watched, the pictured candidate raised a clenched fist, and Pelton's +recorded and amplified voice thundered:</p> + +<p>"<i>Put the Literates in their place! Our servants, not our masters!</i>"</p> + +<p>He recognized the group leader of the Radical-Socialists—the masks +were too small to be more than token disguises—and beckoned to him, +at the same time walking toward his 'copter. The man in black with the +white-handled pistols followed him, spurs jingling.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Mr. Cardon," he said, joining him. "Nothing to it. We got a +tip they were coming to sabotage Big Brother, over there. Take out our +sound-recording, and put in one of their own, like they did over in +Queens, last week. The town clowns got here in time to save +everybody's face, so there wasn't any shooting. We're staying put till +they go, though."</p> + +<p>"<i>Put the Literates in their place! Our servants, not our masters!</i>" +the huge tridianimate bellowed.</p> + +<p>Over in Queens, the Independents had managed to get at a similar +tridianimate, had taken out the record, and had put in one: <i>I am a +lying fraud! Vote for Grant Hamilton and liberty and sound +government!</i></p> + +<p>"Smart work, Goodkin," he approved. "Don't let any of your boys start +the gunplay. The city cops are beginning to get wise to who's going to +win the election, tomorrow, but don't antagonize them. But if any of +those Ku Kluxers tries to pull a gun, don't waste time trying to wing +him. Just hold on to that fiery something-or-other on his chest and +let him have it, and let the coroner worry about him."</p> + +<p>"Yeah. With pleasure," Goodkin replied. "You know, that nightshirt +thing they wear is about the stupidest idea for a storm-troop uniform +I ever saw. Natural target in a gunfight, and in a rough-and-tumble it +gets them all tangled up. Ah, there go a couple of coppers to talk to +them; that's what they've been waiting on. Now they can beat it +without looking like they been run out by our gang."</p> + +<p>Cardon nodded. "Tell your boys to stay around for a while; they may +expect you to leave right after they do, and then they'll try to slip +back. You did a good job; got here promptly. Be seeing you, Goodkin."</p> + +<p>He climbed into his own 'copter and started the motor.</p> + +<p>"<i>Put the Literates in their place!</i>" the tri-dimensional colossus +roared triumphantly after the retreating Independents. "<i>Our servants, +not our masters!</i>"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At eight thousand, he got the 'copter onto the lower Manhattan beam +and relaxed. First of all, he'd have to do something about answering +Slade Gardner's telecast propaganda. That stuff was dangerous. The +answer ought to go on the air by noon, and should be stepped up +through the afternoon. First as a straight news story; Elliot Mongery +had fifteen minutes, beginning at 1215—no, that wouldn't do. +Mongery's sponsor for that time was Atomflame Heaters, and Atomflame +was a subsidiary of Canada Northwest Fissionables, and Canada +Northwest was umbilicus-deep in that Kettle River lease graft that +Pelton had sworn to get investigated as soon as he took office. +Professional ethics wouldn't allow Mongery to say anything in Pelton's +behalf on Atomflame's time. Well, there was Guthrie Parham, he came on +at 1245, and his sponsor was all right. He'd call Parham and tell him +what he wanted done.</p> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_045.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="396" /></p> + +<p>The buzzer warned him that he was approaching the lower Manhattan +beacon; he shifted to manual control, dropped down to the +three-thousand-foot level, and set his selector beam for the signal +from Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise. Down toward the tip of the island, +in the section that had been rebuilt after that Stalin Mark XV +guided missile had gotten through the counter-rocket defenses in 1987, +he could see the quadrate cross of his goal, with public landing +stages on each of the four arms, and the higher central block with its +landing stage for freight and store personnel. Above the four public +stages, helicopters swarmed like May flies—May flies which had +mutated and invented ritual or military drill or choreography—coming +in in four streams to the tips of the arms and rising vertically from +the middle. There was about ten times the normal amount of traffic for +this early in the morning. He wondered, briefly, then remembered, and +cursed. That infernal sale!</p> + +<p>Grudgingly, he respected Russell Latterman's smartness, and in +consequence, the ability of Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves in +selecting a good agent to plant in Pelton's store. Latterman gave a +plausible impersonation of the Illiterate businessman, loyal Prime +Minister of Pelton's commercial empire, Generalissimo in the perpetual +war against Macy & Gimbel's. From that viewpoint, the sale was +excellent business—Latterman had gotten the jump on all the other +department stores for the winter fashions and fall sports trade. He +had also turned the store into a madhouse at the exact time when +Chester Pelton needed to give all his attention to the election.</p> + +<p>Pressing the button that put on his private recognition signal, he +rose above the incoming customers and began to drop toward the +private landing stage, circling to get a view of the other four +stages. Maybe the sale could be turned to some advantage, at that. A +free souvenir with each purchase, carrying a Pelton-for-Senator +picture-message—</p> + +<p>He broke off, peering down at the five-hundred-foot-square landing +stage above the central block, then brought his 'copter swooping down +rapidly. The white-clad figures he had seen swarming up the helical +escalator were not wearing the Ku Klux robes of the +Independent-Conservative storm troops, as he had first feared—they +were in Literate smocks, and among them were the black leather jackets +and futuristic helmets of their guards. They were led, he saw, by +Stephen S. Bayne, the store's Chief Literate; with him were his +assistant, Literate Third Class Roger B. Feinberg, and the novices +carrying books and briefcases and cased typewriters, and the guards, +and every Literate employed in the store. Four or five men in +ordinarily vivid-colored business suits were obviously expostulating +about something. As he landed and threw back the transparent canopy, +he could hear a babel of voices, above which Feinberg was crying: +"Unfair! Unfair! Unfair to Organized Literacy!"</p> + +<p>He jumped out and hurried over.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"But you simply can't!" a white-haired man in blue-and-orange business +clothes was protesting. "If you do, the Associated Fraternities'll be +liable for losses we incur; you know that!"</p> + +<p>Bayne, his thin face livid with anger—and also, Cardon noticed, with +what looked like a couple of fresh bruises—ignored him. Feinberg +broke off his chant of "Unfair! Unfair!" long enough to answer:</p> + +<p>"A Literate First Class has been brutally assaulted by the Illiterate +owner of this store. Literate service for this store is, accordingly, +being discontinued, pending a decision by the Grand Council of the +local Fraternity."</p> + +<p>Cardon grabbed the blue-and-orange clad man and dragged him to one +side.</p> + +<p>"What happened, Hutschnecker?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"They're walking out on us," Hutschnecker told him, unnecessarily. +"The boss had a fight with Bayne; knocked him down a couple of times. +Bayne tried to pull his tablet gun, and I grabbed it away from him, +and somebody else grabbed Pelton before he could pull his, and a +couple of store cops got all the other Literates in the office +covered. Then Bayne put on the general-address system and began +calling out the Literates—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but why did Pelton beat Bayne up?"</p> + +<p>"Bayne made a pass at Miss Claire. I wasn't there when it happened; +she came into the office—"</p> + +<p>Cardon felt his face tighten into a frown of perplexity. That wasn't +like Literate First Class Stephen S. Bayne. He made quite a hobby of +pinching salesgirls behind the counter which was one thing; the boss' +daughter was quite another.</p> + +<p>"Where's Latterman?" he asked, looking around.</p> + +<p>"Down in the office, with the others, trying to help Mr. Pelton. He's +had another of those heart attacks—"</p> + +<p>Cardon swore and ran for the descending escalator, running down the +rotating spiral to the executive floor and jumping off into the +gawking mob of Illiterate clerks crowded in the open doors of Pelton's +office. He hit and shoved and elbowed and cursed them out of the way, +and burst into the big room beyond, and then, for a moment, he was +almost sorry he had come.</p> + +<p>Pelton was slumped in his big relaxer chair, his face pale and twisted +in pain, his breath coming in feeble gasps. His daughter was beside +him, her blond head bent over him; Russell Latterman was standing to +one side, watching intently. For an instant, Cardon was reminded of a +tomcat watching a promising mouse hole.</p> + +<p>"Claire!" Cardon exploded, "give him a nitrocaine bulb. Why are you +all just standing around?"</p> + +<p>Claire turned. "There are none," she said, looking at him with +desperate eyes. "The box is empty; he must have used them all."</p> + +<p>He shot a quick glance at Latterman, catching the sales manager before +he could erase a look of triumph from his face. Things began to add +up. Latterman, of course, was the undercover man for Wilton Joyner and +Harvey Graves and the rest of the Conservative faction at Literates' +Hall, just as he, himself, was Lancedale's agent. Obsessed with +immediate advantages and disadvantages, the Joyner-Graves faction +wanted to secure the re-election of Grant Hamilton, and the way things +had been going in the past two months, only Chester Pelton's death +could accomplish that. Latterman had probably thrown out Pelton's +nitrocaine capsules and then put Bayne up to insulting Pelton's +daughter, knowing that a fit of rage would bring on another heart +attack, which could be fatal without the medicine.</p> + +<p>"Well, send for more!"</p> + +<p>"The prescription's in the safe," she said faintly.</p> + +<p>The office safe was locked, and only a Literate could open it. The +double combination was neatly stenciled on the door, the numbers +spelled out as words and the letters spelled in phonetic equivalents. +All three of them—himself, Claire, and Russell Latterman—could read +them. None of them dared admit it. Latterman was fairly licking his +chops in anticipation. If Cardon opened the safe, Pelton's campaign +manager stood convicted as a Literate. If Claire opened it, the gaggle +of Illiterate clerks in the doorway would see, and speedily spread +the news, that the daughter of the arch-foe of Literacy was herself +able to read. Maybe Latterman hadn't really intended his employer to +die. Maybe this was the situation he had really intended to contrive.</p> + +<p>Chester Pelton couldn't be allowed to die. If Grant Hamilton were +returned to the Senate, the long-range planning of William Lancedale +would suffer a crushing setback, and the public reaction would be +catastrophic. <i>The Plan comes first</i>, Lancedale had told him. He made +his decision, and then saw that he hadn't needed to make it. Claire +had straightened, left her father, crossed quickly to the safe, and +was kneeling in front of it, her back stiff with determination, her +fingers busy at the dials, her eyes going from them to the printed +combination and back again. She swung open the door, skimmed through +the papers inside, unerringly selected the prescription, and rose.</p> + +<p>"Here, Russ; go get it filled at once," she ordered. "And hurry!"</p> + +<p>Oh, no, you don't, Cardon thought. One chance is enough for you, Russ. +He snatched the prescription from her and turned to Latterman.</p> + +<p>"I'll get it," he told the sales manager. "You're needed for the sale; +stay on the job here."</p> + +<p>"But with the Literates walked out, we can't—"</p> + +<p>Cardon blazed: "Do I have to teach you your business? Have a sample of +each item set aside at the counter, and pile sales slips under it. +And for unique items, just detach the tag and put it with the sales +slip. Now get out of here, and get cracking with it!" He picked up the +pistol that had been taken from Pelton when he had tried to draw it on +Bayne, checking the chamber and setting the safety. "Know how to use +this?" he asked Claire. "Then hang onto it, and stay close to your +father. This wasn't any accident, it was a deliberate attempt on his +life. I'll have a couple of store cops sent in here; see that they +stay with you."</p> + +<p>He gave her no chance to argue. Pushing Latterman ahead of him, he +drove through the mob of clerks outside the door.</p> + +<p>"... Course she can; didn't you see her open the safe?" he heard. "... Nobody but a Literate—" "Then she's a Literate, herself!"</p> + +<p>A couple of centuries ago, they would have talked like that if it had +been discovered that the girl were pregnant; a couple of centuries +before that, they would have been equally horrified if she had been +discovered to have been a Protestant, or a Catholic, or whatever the +locally unpopular religion happened to be. By noon, this would be all +over Penn-Jersey-York; coming on top of Slade Gardner's accusations—</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He ran up the spiral escalator, stumbling and regaining his footing as +he left it. Bayne and his striking Literates were all gone; he saw a +sergeant of Pelton's store police and went toward him, taking his +spare identity-badge from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Here," he said, handing it to the sergeant. "Get another officer, and +go down to Pelton's office. Show it to Miss Pelton, and tell her I +sent you. There's been an attempt on Chester Pelton's life; you're to +stay with him. Use your own judgment, but don't let anybody, and that +definitely includes Russell Latterman, get at him. If you see anything +suspicious, shoot first and ask questions afterwards. What's your +name, sergeant?"</p> + +<p>"Coccozello, sir. Guido Coccozello."</p> + +<p>"All right. There'll be a medic or a pharmacist—a Literate, +anyhow—with medicine for Mr. Pelton. He'll ask for you, by name, and +mention me. And there'll be another Literate, maybe; he'll know your +name, and use mine. Hurry, now, sergeant."</p> + +<p>He jumped into his 'copter, pulled forward the plexiglass canopy, and +took off vertically to ten thousand feet, then, orienting himself, +swooped downward toward a landing stage on the other side of the East +River, cutting across traffic levels with an utter contempt for +regulations.</p> + +<p>The building on which he landed was one of the principal pharmacies; +he spiraled down on the escalator to the main floor and went directly +to the Literate in charge, noticing that he wore on his Sam Browne not +only the badges of retail-merchandising, pharmacist and graduate +chemist but also that of medic-in-training. Snatching a pad and pencil +from a counter, he wrote hastily: <i>Your private office, at once; +urgent and important.</i></p> + +<p>Looking at it, the Literate nodded in recognition of Cardon's +Literacy.</p> + +<p>"Over this way, sir," he said, guiding Cardon to his small cubicle +office.</p> + +<p>"Here." Cardon gave him the prescription. "Nitrocaine bulbs. They're +for Chester Pelton; he's had a serious heart attack. He needs these +with all speed. I don't suppose I need tell you how many kinds of hell +will break loose if he dies now and the Fraternities are accused, as +the Illiterates' Organization will be sure to, of having had him +poisoned."</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" the Literate asked, taking the prescription and +glancing at it. "That,"—he gestured toward Cardon's silver-laced +black Mexican jacket—"isn't exactly a white smock."</p> + +<p>Cardon had his pocket recorder in his hand. He held it out, pressing a +concealed stud; the stylus-and-tablet insignia glowed redly on it for +a moment, then vanished. The uniformed Literate nodded.</p> + +<p>"Fill this exactly; better do it yourself, to make sure, and take it +over to Pelton's yourself. I see you have a medic-trainee's badge. Ask +for Sergeant Coccozello, and tell him Frank Cardon sent you." The +Literate, who had not recognized him before, opened his eyes at the +name and whistled softly. "And fix up a sedative to keep him quiet +for not less than four nor more than six hours. Let me use your +visiphone for a while, if you please."</p> + +<p>The man in the Literate smock nodded and hurried out. Cardon dialed +William R. Lancedale's private number. When Lancedale's thin, intense +face appeared on the screen, he reported swiftly.</p> + +<p>"The way I estimate it," he finished, "Latterman put Bayne up to +making a pass at the girl, after having thrown out Pelton's nitrocaine +bulbs. Probably told the silly jerk that Claire was pining away with +secret passion for him, or something. Maybe he wanted to kill Pelton; +maybe he just wanted this to happen."</p> + +<p>"I assume there's no chance of stopping a leak?"</p> + +<p>Cardon laughed with mirthless harshness. "That, I take it, was +rhetorical."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course." Lancedale's face assumed the blank expression that +went with a pause for semantic re-integration. "Can you cover yourself +for about an hour?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. 'Copter trouble. Visits to campaign headquarters. An +appeal on Pelton's behalf for a new crew of Literates for the store—"</p> + +<p>"Good enough. Come over. I think I can see a way to turn this to +advantage. I'm going to call for an emergency session of the Grand +Council this afternoon, and I'll want you sitting in on it; I want to +talk to you about plans now." He considered for a moment. "There's +too much of a crowd at O'Reilly's, now; come the church way."</p> + +<p>Breaking the connection, Cardon dialed again. A girl's face, over a +Literate Third Class smock, appeared in the screen; a lovely golden +voice chimed at him:</p> + +<p>"Mineola High School; good morning, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good morning. Frank Cardon here. Let me talk, at once, to your +principal, Literate First Class Prestonby."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ralph Prestonby cleared his throat, slipped a master disk into the +recording machine beside his desk, and pressed the start button.</p> + +<p>"Dear Parent or Guardian," he began. "Your daughter, now a third-year +student at this school, has reached the age of eligibility for the +Domestic Science course entitled, 'How To Win and Hold a Husband.' +Statistics show that girls who have completed this valuable course are +sooner, longer, and happier married than those who have not enjoyed +its advantages. We recommend it most highly.</p> + +<p>"However, because of the delicate nature of some of the visual +material used, your consent is required. You can attach such consent +to this disk by running it for at least ten seconds after the sign-off +and then switching from 'Play' to 'Transcribe.' Kindly include your +full name, as well as your daughter's, and place your thumbprint on +the opposite side of the disk. Very sincerely yours, Literate First +Class Ralph C. Prestonby, Principal."</p> + +<p>He put the master disk in an envelope, checked over a list of names +and addresses of parents and girl students, and put that in also. He +looked over the winter sports schedule, and signed and thumbprinted +it. Then he loaded the recorder with his morning's mail, switched to +"Play," and started it. As he listened, he blew smoke rings across the +room and toyed with a dagger, made from a file, which had been thrown +down the central light-well at him a few days before. The invention of +the pocket recorder, which put a half-hour's conversation on a +half-inch disk, had done more to slow down business and promote inane +correspondence than anything since the earlier inventions of +shorthand, typewriters and pretty stenographers. Finally, he cleared +the machine, dumping the whole mess into a basket and carrying it out +to his secretary.</p> + +<p>"Miss Collins, take this infernal rubbish and have a couple of the +girls divide it between them, play it off, and make a digest of it," +he said. "And here. The sports schedule, and this parental-consent +thing on the husband-trapping course. Have them taken care of."</p> + +<p>"This stuff," Martha Collins said, poking at the pile of letter disks. +"I suppose about half of it is threats, abuse and obscenities, and the +other half is from long-winded bores with idiotic suggestions and +ill-natured gripes. I'll use that old tag line, again—'hoping you +appreciate our brevity as much as we enjoyed yours—'"</p> + +<p>"Yes. That'll be all right." He looked at his watch. "I'm going to +make a personal building-tour, instead of using the TV. The animals +are sort of restless, today. The election; the infantile compulsion to +take sides. If you need me for anything urgent, don't use oral call. +Just flash my signal, red-blue-red-blue, on the hall and classroom +screens. Oh, Doug!"</p> + +<p>Yetsko, his length of rubber hose under his arm, ambled out of +Prestonby's private office, stopping to stub out his cigarette. The +action reminded Prestonby that he still had his pipe in his mouth; he +knocked it out and pocketed it. Together, they went into the hall +outside.</p> + +<p>"Where to, first, captain?" Yetsko wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Cloak-and-Dagger Department, on the top floor. Then we'll drop down +to the shops, and then up through Domestic Science and Business and +General Arts."</p> + +<p>"And back here. We hope," Yetsko finished.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They took a service elevator to the top floor, emerging into a +stockroom piled with boxes and crates and cases of sound records and +cans of film and stacks of picture cards, and all the other +impedimenta of Illiterate education. Passing through it to the other +end, Prestonby unlocked a door, and they went down a short hall, to +where ten or fifteen boys and girls had just gotten off a helical +escalator and were queued up at a door at the other end. There were +two Literate guards in black leather, and a student-monitor, with his +white belt and rubber truncheon, outside the door.</p> + +<p>Prestonby swore under his breath. He'd hoped they'd miss this, but +since they hadn't, there was nothing for it but to fall in at the tail +of the queue. One by one, the boys and girls went up, spoke briefly to +the guards and the student-monitor, and were passed through the door, +Each time, one of the guards had to open it with a key. Finally, it +was Prestonby's turn.</p> + +<p>"B, D, F, H, J, L, N, P, R, T, V, X, Y," he recited to the guardians +of the door.</p> + +<p>"A, C, E, G, I, K, M, O, Q, S, U, W, Y," the monitor replied solemnly. +"The inkwell is dry, and the book is dusty."</p> + +<p>"But tomorrow, there will be writing and reading for all," Prestonby +answered.</p> + +<p>The guard with the key unlocked the door, and he and Yetsko went +through, into an utterly silent sound-proofed room, and from it into +an inner, noisy, room, where a recorded voice was chanting:</p> + +<p>"Hat—<i>huh-ah-tuh.</i> H-a-t. Box—<i>buh-oh-ksss</i>. B-o-x. +Gun—<i>guh-uh-nnn</i>. G-u-n. Girl—<i>guh-ih-rrr-lll</i>," while pictures were +flashed on a screen at the front, and words appeared under them.</p> + +<p>There were about twenty boys and girls, of the freshman-year +age-bracket at desk-seats, facing the screen. They'd started learning +the alphabet when school had opened in September; now they had gotten +as far as combining letters into simple words. In another month, +they'd be as far as diphthongs and would be initiated into the +mysteries of silent letters. Maybe sooner than that; he was finding +that children who had not been taught to read until their twelfth year +learned much more rapidly than the primary grade children in the +Literate schools.</p> + +<p>What he was doing here wasn't exactly illegal. It wasn't even against +the strict letter of Fraternity regulations. But it had to be done +clandestinely. What he'd have liked to have done would have been to +have given every boy and girl in English I the same instruction this +selected group was getting, but that would have been out of the +question. The public would never have stood for it; the police would +have had to intervene to prevent a riotous mob of Illiterates from +tearing the school down brick by brick, and even if that didn't +happen, the ensuing uproar inside the Fraternity would have blown the +roof off Literates' Hall. Even Lancedale couldn't have survived such +an explosion, and the body of Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby +would have been found in a vacant lot the next morning. Even many of +Lancedale's supporters would have turned on him in anger at this +sudden blow to the Fraternities' monopoly of the printed Word.</p> + +<p>So it had to be kept secret, and since adolescents in possession of a +secret are under constant temptation to hint mysteriously in the +presence of outsiders, this hocus-pocus of ritual and password and +countersign had to be resorted to. He'd been in conspiratorial work of +other kinds, and knew that there was a sound psychological basis for +most of what seemed, at first glance, to be mere melodramatic +claptrap.</p> + +<p>He and Yetsko passed on through a door across the room, into another +sound-proofed room. The work of soundproofing and partitioning the old +stockroom had been done in the last semester of his first year at +Mineola High, by members of the graduating class of building-trades +students, who had then gone their several ways convinced that they had +been working on a set of music-class practice rooms. The Board of +Education had never even found out about it. In this second room, a +Literate teacher, one of the Lancedale faction, had a reading class of +twenty-five or thirty. A girl was on her feet, with a book in her +hand, reading from it:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"We are not sure of sorrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And joy was never sure;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Today will die tomorrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time stoops to no man's lure;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And love, grown faint and fretful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lips but half regretful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sighs, and with eyes forgetful<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weeps that no loves endure."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then she handed the book—it was the only copy—to the boy sitting in +front of her, and he rose to read the next verse. Prestonby, catching +the teacher's eye, nodded and smiled. This was a third-year class, of +course, but from h-a-t spells hat to Swinburne in three years was good +work.</p> + +<p>There were three other classes, a total of little over a hundred +students. There was no trouble; they were there for one purpose +only—to learn. He spoke with one of the teachers, whose class was +busy with a written exercise; he talked for a while to another whose +only duty at the moment was to answer questions and furnish help to a +small class who were reading silently from a variety of smuggled-in +volumes.</p> + +<p>"Only a hundred and twenty, out of five thousand," Yetsko said to him, +as they were dropping down in the elevator by which they had come. +"Think you'll ever really get anything done with them?"</p> + +<p>"I won't. Maybe they won't," he replied. "But the ones they'll teach +will. They're just a cadre; it'll take fifty years before the effects +are really felt. But some day—"</p> + +<p>The shops—a good half of the school was trades-training—were noisy +and busy. Here Prestonby kept his hand on his gas-projector, and +Yetsko had his rubber hose ready, either to strike or to discard in +favor of his pistol. The instructors were similarly on the alert and +ready for trouble—he had seen penitentiaries where the guards took it +easier. Carpentry and building trades. Machine shop. Welding. 'Copter +and TV repair shops—he made a minor and relatively honest graft +there, from the sale of rebuilt equipment. Even an atomic-equipment +shop, though there was nothing in the place that would excite a Geiger +more than the instructor's luminous-dial watch.</p> + +<p>Domestic Science—Home Decorating, Home Handicrafts, Use of Home +Appliances, Beautician School, Charm School. He and Yetsko sampled the +products of the Cooking School, intended for the cafeteria, and found +them edible if uninspired.</p> + +<p>Business—classes in recording letters, using Illiterate +business-machines, preparing Illiterate cards for same, filing +recordings—always with the counsel, "When in doubt, consult a +Literate."</p> + +<p>General Arts—Spanish and French, from elaborate record players, the +progeny of the old Twentieth Century Linguaphone. English, with +recorded-speech composition, enunciation training, semantics, and what +Prestonby called English Illiterature. The class he visited was +drowsing through one of the less colorful sections of "Gone With The +Wind." World History, with half the students frankly asleep through an +audio-visual on the Feudal System, with planted hints on how nice a +revival of same would be, and identifying the clergy of the Middle +Ages with the Fraternities of Literates. American History, with the +class wide awake, since Custer's Massacre was obviously only moments +away.</p> + +<p>"Wantta bet one of those little cherubs doesn't try to scalp another +before the day's out?" Yetsko whispered.</p> + +<p>Prestonby shook his head. "No bet. Remember that film on the Spanish +Inquisition, that we had to discontinue?"</p> + +<p>It was then that the light on the classroom screen, which had been +flickering green and white, suddenly began flashing Prestonby's +wanted-at-office signal.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Prestonby found Frank Cardon looking out of the screen in his private +office. The round, ordinarily cheerful, face was serious, but the +innocent blue eyes were as unreadable as ever. He was wearing one of +the new Mexican <i>charro</i>-style jackets, black laced with silver.</p> + +<p>"I can't see all your office, Ralph," he said as Prestonby approached. +"Are you alone?"</p> + +<p>"Doug Yetsko's all," Prestonby said, and, as Cardon hesitated, added: +"Don't be silly, Frank; he's my bodyguard. What could I be in that he +wouldn't know all about?"</p> + +<p>Cardon nodded. "Well, we're in a jam up to here." A handwave conveyed +the impression that the sea of troubles had risen to his chin. He +spoke at some length, describing the fight between Chester Pelton and +Stephen S. Bayne, the Literate strike at Pelton's Purchasers' +Paradise, Pelton's heart attack, and the circumstances of Claire's +opening the safe. "So you see," he finished. "Maybe Latterman tried to +kill Pelton, maybe he just tried to do what he did. I can't take +chances either way."</p> + +<p>Prestonby thought furiously. "You say Claire's alone at the store with +her father?"</p> + +<p>"And a couple of store cops, sterling characters with the hearts of +lions and the brains of goldfish," Cardon replied. "And Russ +Latterman, and maybe four or five Conservative goons he's managed to +infiltrate into the store."</p> + +<p>Prestonby was still thinking, aloud, now. "Maybe they did mean to kill +Pelton; in that case, they'll try again. Or maybe they only wanted to +expose Claire's literacy. It's hard to say what else they'd try—maybe +kidnap her, to truth-drug her and use her as a guest-artist on a +Conservative telecast. I'm going over to the store, now."</p> + +<p>"That's a good idea, Ralph. If you hadn't thought of it, I was going +to suggest it. Land on the central stage, ask for Sergeant Coccozello +of the store police, and give my name. Even aside from everything +else, it'd be a good idea to have somebody there who can read and +dares admit it, till a new crew of Literates can get there. You were +speaking about the possibility of kidnaping; how about the boy? Ray?"</p> + +<p>Prestonby nodded. "I'll have him come here to my office, and stay +there till I get back; I'll have Yetsko stay with him." He turned to +where the big man in black leather stood guard at the door. "Doug, go +get Ray Pelton and bring him here. Check with Miss Collins for where +he'd be, now." He turned back to the screen. "Anything else, Frank?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't that enough?" the brewer-Literate demanded. "I'll call you at +the store, after a while. 'Bye."</p> + +<p>The screen darkened as Cardon broke the connection. Prestonby got to +his feet, went to his desk, and picked up a pipe, digging out the +ashes from the bowl with an ice pick that one of the teachers had +taken from a sixteen-year-old would-be murderer. He checked his tablet +gun, made sure that there was an extra loaded clip in the holster, and +got two more spare clips from the arms locker. Then, to make sure, he +called Pelton's store, talking for a while to the police sergeant +Cardon had mentioned. By the time he was finished, the door opened and +Yetsko ushered Ray Pelton in.</p> + +<p>"What's happened?" the boy asked. "Doug told me that the Senator ... +my father ... had another heart attack."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Ray. I don't believe he's in any great danger. He's at the +store, resting in his office." He went on to tell the boy what had +happened, exactly and in full detail. He was only fifteen, but +already he had completed the four-year reading course and he could +think a great deal more logically than seventy per cent of the people +who were legally entitled to vote. Ray listened seriously, and proved +Prestonby's confidence justified by nodding.</p> + +<p>"Frame-up," he said succinctly. "Stinks like a glue factory of a +put-up job. Something's going to happen to Russ Latterman, one of +these days."</p> + +<p>"I think you'd better let Frank Cardon take care of him, Ray," +Prestonby advised. "I think there are more angles to this than he told +me. Now, I'm going over to the store. Somebody's got to stay with +Claire. I want you to stay here, in this room. If anybody sends you +any message supposed to be from me, just ignore it. It'll be a trap. +If I want to get in touch with you, I'll call you, with vision-image."</p> + +<p>"Mean somebody might try to kidnap me, or Claire, to force the Senator +to withdraw, or something?" Ray asked, his eyes widening.</p> + +<p>"You catch on quickly, Ray," Prestonby commended him. "Doug, you stay +with Ray till I get back. Don't let him out of your sight for an +instant. At noon, have Miss Collins get lunches for both of you sent +up; if I'm not back by fifteen-hundred, take him to his home, and stay +with him there."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_069.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="302" /></p> + +<p>For half an hour, Frank Cardon made a flying tour of +Radical-Socialist borough headquarters. Even at the Manhattan +headquarters, which he visited immediately after his talk with +Prestonby, the news had already gotten out. The atmosphere of +optimistic triumph which had undoubtedly followed Mongery's telecast +and his report on the Trotter Poll, had evaporated. The Literate +clerical help was gathered in a tight knot, obviously a little +worried, and just as obviously enjoying the reaction. In smaller and +constantly changing groups, the volunteers, the paid helpers, the +dirt-squirters, the goon gangs, gathered, talking in worried or +frightened or angry voices. When Cardon entered and was recognized, +there was a concerted movement toward him. His two regular bodyguards, +both on leave from the Literate storm troops, moved quickly to range +themselves on either side of him. With a gesture, he halted the +others.</p> + +<p>"Hold it!" he called. "I know what you're worried about. I was there +when it happened, and saw everything."</p> + +<p>He paused, to let them assimilate that, and continued: "Now get this, +all of you! Our boss, and—<i>if he lives</i>—our next senator, was the +victim of a deliberate murder attempt, by Literate First Class Bayne, +who threw out his supply of nitrocaine bulbs and then goaded him into +a heart attack which, except for his daughter, would have been fatal. +Claire Pelton deserves the deepest gratitude of every +Radical-Socialist in the state. She's a smart girl, and she saved the +life of her father and our leader.</p> + +<p>"But—she is <i>not</i> a Literate!" he cried loudly. "All she did was +something any of you could have done—something I've done, myself, so +that I won't be locked out of my own safe and have to wait for a +Literate to come and open, it for me. She simply kept her eye on the +Literates who were opening the safe, and learned the combination from +the positions to which they turned the dial. And you believe, on the +strength of that, that she's a Literate? The next thing, you'll be +believing that professional liar of a Slade Gardner. And you call +yourselves politicians!" He fairly gargled obscenities.</p> + +<p>Looking around, he caught sight of a pair who seemed something less +than impressed with his account of it. Joe West, thick-armed, +hairy-chested, blue-jowled; Horace Yingling, thin and gangling. They +weren't Radical-Socialist party people; they were from the Political +Action Committee of the Consolidated Illiterates Organization, and +their slogan was simpler and more to the point than Chester +Pelton's—the only good Literate is a dead Literate. He tensed himself +and challenged them directly.</p> + +<p>"Joe; Horace. How about you? Satisfied the Pelton girl isn't a +Literate, now?"</p> + +<p>Yingling looked at West, and West looked back at him questioningly. +Evidently the <i>suavitor in modo</i> was Yingling's province, and the +<i>fortior in re</i> was West's.</p> + +<p>"Yeh, sure, Mr. Cardon," Yingling said dubiously. "Now that you +explain it, we see how it was."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was worse than that in some of the other boroughs. One fanatic, +imagining that Cardon himself was a crypto-Literate, drew a gun. +Cardon's guards disarmed him and beat him senseless. At another +headquarters, some character was circulating about declaring that not +only Claire Pelton but her younger brother, Ray, as well, were +Literates. Cardon's two men hustled him out of the building, and, +after about twenty minutes, returned alone. Cardon hoped that the body +would not be found until after the polls closed, the next day.</p> + +<p>Finally, leaving his guards with the 'copter at a public landing +stage, he made his way, by devious routes, to William R. Lancedale's +office, and found Lancedale at his desk, seeming not to have moved +since he had showed his agent out earlier in the day.</p> + +<p>"Well, we're in a nice puddle of something-or-other," Cardon greeted +him. "On top of that Gardner telecast, this morning—"</p> + +<p>"Guthrie Parham's taking care of that, and everything's going to be +done to ridicule Gardner," Lancedale told him. "And even this business +at the store can be turned to some advantage. Before we're through, we +may gain more votes than we lose for Pelton. And we had an informal +meeting—Joyner for Retail Merchandising, Starke for Grievance +Settlements, and four or five others including myself, to make up a +quorum. We had Bayne in, and heard his story of it, and we got a +report from one of our stoolies in the store. Bayne thought he was +due for a commendation; instead, he got an eat-out. Of course, it was +a fact that Pelton'd hit him, and we can't have Literates punched +around, regardless of provocation. So we voted to fine Pelton ten +million for beating Bayne up, and to award him ten million for losses +resulting from unauthorized withdrawal of Literate services. We +ordered a new crew of Literates to the store, and we exiled Bayne to +Brooklyn, to something called Stillman's Used Copter and Junk Bazaar. +For the next few months, the only thing he'll find that's round and +pinchable will be second-hand tires. But don't be too hard on him; I +think he did us a favor."</p> + +<p>"You mean, starting a rift between Pelton and the Consolidated +Illiterates' Organization, which we can widen after the election?"</p> + +<p>"No. I hadn't thought of it that way, Frank," Lancedale smiled. "It's +an idea worth keeping in mind, and we'll exploit it, later. What I was +thinking about was the more immediate problem of the election—"</p> + +<p>The buzzer on Lancedale's desk interrupted, and a voice came out of +the commo box:</p> + +<p>"Message, urgent and private, sir. Source named as Sforza."</p> + +<p>Cardon recognized the name. Maybe the Independent-Conservatives have +troubles, too, he thought hopefully. Then Lancedale's video screen +became the frame for an almost unbelievably commonplace set of +features.</p> + +<p>"Sforza, sir," the man in the screen said. "Sorry I'm late, but I was +able to get out of the building only a few minutes ago, and I had to +make sure I wasn't wearing a tail. I have two new facts. First, the +Conservatives have been bringing storm troops in from outside, from +Philadelphia, and from Wilkes-Scranton, and from Buffalo. They are +being concentrated in lower Manhattan, in plain clothes, with only +concealed weapons, and carrying their hoods folded up under their +coats. Second, I overheard a few snatches of conversation between two +of the Conservative storm troop leaders, as follows: '... Start it in +China ... thirteen-thirty,' and '... Important to make it appear +either spontaneous or planned for business motives.'"</p> + +<p>"Try to get us more information, as quickly as possible," Lancedale +directed. "Obviously, we should know, by about thirteen hundred, +what's being planned."</p> + +<p>"Right, sir." Lancedale's spy at Independent-Conservative headquarters +nodded and vanished from the screen.</p> + +<p>"What does it sound like to you, Frank?" Lancedale asked.</p> + +<p>"China is obviously a code-designation for some place in downtown +Manhattan, where the Conservative goon gangs are being concentrated. +The only thing I can say is that it probably is not Chinatown. They'd +either say 'Chinatown' and not 'China,' or they would use some +code-designation that wasn't so close to the actual name," Cardon +considered. "What they're going to start, at thirteen-thirty, which is +only two hours and a half from now, is probably some kind of a riot."</p> + +<p>"A riot which could arise from business motives," Lancedale added. +"That sounds like the docks, or the wholesale district, or the garment +district, or something like that." He passed his hand rapidly over the +photoelectric eye of the commo box. "Get me Major Slater," he said; +and, a little later, "Major, get a platoon out to Long Island, to +Chester Pelton's home; have the place searched for possible booby +traps, and maintain guard there till further notice. You'll have no +trouble with the servants, they're all in our pay. That platoon must +not, repeat not, wear uniform or appear to have any connection with +the Fraternities. Put another platoon in Pelton's store. Concealed +weapons, and plain clothes. They should carry their leather helmets in +shopping bags, and roam about in the store, ostensibly shopping. And a +full company, uniformed and armed with heavy weapons, alerted and +ready for immediate 'copter movement." He went on to explain about the +intelligence report and the conclusions drawn from it. The guards +officer repeated back his instructions, and Lancedale broke the +connection.</p> + +<p>"Now, Frank," he said, "I told you that this revelation of Claire +Pelton's Literacy can be turned to our advantage. There's to be a full +Council meeting at thirteen hundred. Here's what I estimate Joyner and +Graves will try to do, and here's what I'm going to do to counter +it—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A couple of men in the maroon uniform of Pelton's store police were +waiting as Prestonby's 'copter landed on the top stage; one of them +touched his cap-visor with his gas-billy in salute and said: "Literate +Prestonby? Miss Pelton is expecting you; she's in her father's office. +This way, if you please, sir."</p> + +<p>He had hoped to find her alone, but when he entered the office, he saw +five or six of the store personnel with her. Since opening her +father's safe, she had evidently dropped all pretense of Illiteracy; +there was a mass of papers spread on the big desk, and she was +referring from one to another of them with the deft skill of a regular +Fraternities Literate, while the others watched in fascinated horror.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, Mr. Hutschnecker," she told the white-haired man in +the blue and orange business suit with whom she had been talking, and +laid the printed price-schedule down, advancing to meet him.</p> + +<p>"Ralph!" she greeted him. "Frank Cardon told me you were coming. I—"</p> + +<p>For a moment, he thought of the afternoon, over two years ago, when +she had entered his office at the school, and he had recognized her as +the older sister of young Ray Pelton.</p> + +<p>"Professor Prestonby," she had begun, accusingly, "you have been +teaching my brother, Raymond Pelton, to read!"</p> + +<p>He had been prepared for that; had known that sooner or later there +would be some minor leak in the security screen around the classrooms +on the top floor.</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Pelton," he had protested pleasantly. "I think you've +become overwrought over nothing. This pretense to Literacy is a phase +most boys of Ray's age pass through; they do it just as they play +air-pirates or hi-jackers a few years earlier. The usual trick is to +memorize something heard from a record disk, and then pretend to read +it from print."</p> + +<p>"Don't try to kid me, professor. I know that Ray can read. I can prove +it."</p> + +<p>"And supposing he has learned a few words," he had parried. "Can you +be sure I taught him? And if so, what had you thought of doing about +it? Are you going to expose me as a corrupter of youth?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless I have to," she had replied coolly. "I'm going to +blackmail you, professor. I want you to teach me to read, too."</p> + +<p>Now, with this gang of her father's Illiterate store officials +present, a quick handclasp and a glance were all they could exchange.</p> + +<p>"How is he, Claire?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Out of danger, for the present. There was a medic here, who left just +before you arrived. He brought nitrocaine bulbs, and gave father +something to make him sleep. He's lying down, back in his rest room." +She led him to a door at the rear of the office and motioned him to +enter, following him. "He's going to sleep for a couple of hours, +yet."</p> + +<p>The room was a sort of bedroom and dressing room, with a miniscule +toilet and shower beyond. Pelton was lying on his back, sleeping; his +face was pale, but he was breathing easily and regularly. Two of the +store policemen, a sergeant and a patrolman, were playing cards on the +little table, and the patrolman had a burp gun within reach.</p> + +<p>"All right, sergeant," Claire said. "You and Gorman go out to the +office. Call me if anything comes up that needs my attention, in the +next few minutes."</p> + +<p>The sergeant started to protest. Claire cut him off.</p> + +<p>"There's no danger here. This Literate can be trusted; he's a friend +of Mr. Cardon's. Works at the brewery. It's all right."</p> + +<p>The two rose and went out, leaving the door barely ajar. Prestonby and +Claire, like a pair of marionettes on the same set of strings, cast a +quick glance at the door and then were in each other's arms. Chester +Pelton slept placidly as they kissed and whispered endearments.</p> + +<p>It was Claire who terminated the embrace, looking apprehensively at +her slumbering father.</p> + +<p>"Ralph, what's it all about?" she asked. "I didn't even know that you +and Frank Cardon knew each other, let alone that he had any idea about +us."</p> + +<p>Prestonby thought furiously, trying to find a safe path through the +tangle of Claire Pelton's conflicting loyalties, trying to find a path +between his own loyalties and his love for her, wondering how much it +would be safe to tell her.</p> + +<p>"And Cardon's gone completely cloak-and-dagger-happy," she continued. +"He's talking about plots against my father's life, and against me, +and—"</p> + +<p>"A lot of things are going on under cloaks, around here," he told her. +"And under Literate smocks, and under other kinds of costume. And a +lot of daggers are out, too. You didn't know Frank Cardon was a +Literate, did you?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes widened. "I thought I was Literate enough to spot Literacy in +anybody else," she said. "No, I never even suspected—"</p> + +<p>Somebody rapped on the door. "Miss Pelton," the sergeant's voice +called. "Visiphone call from Literates' Hall."</p> + +<p>Prestonby smiled. "I'll take it, if you don't mind," he said. "I'm +acting-chief-Literate here, now, I suppose."</p> + +<p>She followed him as he went out into Pelton's office. When he snapped +on the screen, a young man in a white smock, with the Fraternities +Executive Section badge, looked out of it. He gave a slight start when +he saw Prestonby.</p> + +<p>"Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby, acting voluntarily for +Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise during emergency," he said.</p> + +<p>"Literate First Class Armandez, Executive Section," the man in the +screen replied. "This call is in connection with the recent attack of +Chester Pelton upon Literate First Class Bayne."</p> + +<p>"Continue, understanding that we admit nothing," Prestonby told him.</p> + +<p>"An extemporary session of the Council has found Pelton guilty of +assaulting Literate Bayne, and has fined him ten million dollars," +Armandez announced.</p> + +<p>"We enter protest," Prestonby replied automatically.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, Literate. The Council has also awarded Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise damages to the extent of ten million dollars, for +losses incurred by suspension of Literate service, and voted censure +against Literate Bayne for ordering said suspension without consent of +the Council. Furthermore, a new crew of Literates, with their novices, +guards, et cetera, is being sent at once to your store. Obviously, +neither the Fraternities, nor Pelton's, nor the public, would be +benefitted by returning Literate Bayne or any of his crew; he has been +given another assignment."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. And when can we expect this new crew of Literates?" +Prestonby asked.</p> + +<p>The man in the screen consulted his watch. "Probably inside of an +hour. We've had to do some re-shuffling; you know how these things are +handled. And if you'll pardon me, Literate; just what are you doing at +Pelton's? I understood that you were principal of Mineola High +School."</p> + +<p>"That's a good question." Prestonby hastily assessed the circumstances +and their implications. "I'd suggest that you ask it of my superior, +Literate Lancedale, however."</p> + +<p>The Literate in the screen blinked; that was the equivalent, for him, +of anybody else's jaw dropping to his midriff.</p> + +<p>"Well! A pleasure, Literate. Good day."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Miss Pelton!" The man in the blue-and-orange suit was still trying to +catch her attention. "Where are we going to put that stuff? Russ +Latterman's out in the store, somewhere, and I can't get in touch with +him."</p> + +<p>"What did you say it was?" she replied.</p> + +<p>"Fireworks, for the Peace Day trade. We want to get it on sale about +the middle of the month."</p> + +<p>"This was a fine time to deliver them. Peace Day isn't till the Tenth +of December. Put them down in the fireproof vault."</p> + +<p>"That place is full of photographic film, and sporting ammunition, and +other merchandise; stuff we'll have to draw out to replace stock on +the shelves during the sale," the Illiterate objected.</p> + +<p>"The weather forecast for the next couple of days is fair," Prestonby +reminded her. "Why not just pile the stuff on the top stage, beyond +the control tower, and put up warning signs?"</p> + +<p>The man—Hutschnecker, Prestonby remembered hearing Claire call +him—nodded.</p> + +<p>"That might be all right. We could cover the cases with tarpaulins."</p> + +<p>A buzzer drew one of the Illiterates to a handphone. He listened for a +moment, and turned.</p> + +<p>"Hey, there's a Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz down in Furs; she wants to +buy one of those mutated-mink coats, and she's only got half a million +bucks with her. How's her credit?"</p> + +<p>Claire handed Prestonby a black-bound book. "Confidential +credit-rating guide; look her up for us," she said.</p> + +<p>Another buzzer rasped, before Prestonby could find the entry on +Zydanowycz, H. Armytage; the Illiterate office worker, laying down one +phone, grabbed up another.</p> + +<p>"They're all outta small money in Notions; every son and his brother's +been in there in the last hour to buy a pair of dollar shoestrings +with a grand-note."</p> + +<p>"I'll take care of that," Hutschnecker said. "Wait till I call control +tower, and tell them about the fireworks."</p> + +<p>"How much does Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz want credit for?" Prestonby +asked. "The book says her husband's good for up to fifteen million, or +fifty million in thirty days."</p> + +<p>"Those coats are only five million," Claire said. "Let her have it; be +sure to get her thumbprint, though, and send it up here for +comparison."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Claire; do you know how we're going to handle this new Literate +crew, when they get here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, here's the TO for Literate service." She tossed a big chart +across the desk to him. "I made a few notes on it; you can give it to +whoever is in charge."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It went on, like that, for the next hour. When the new Literate crew +arrived, Prestonby was delighted to find a friend, and a +fellow-follower of Lancedale, in charge. Considering that Retail +Merchandising was Wilton Joyner's section, that was a good omen. +Lancedale must have succeeded to an extraordinary degree in imposing +his will on the Grand Council. Prestonby found, however, that he +would need some time to brief the new chief Literate on the +operational details at the store. He was unwilling to bring Claire too +prominently into the conference, although he realized that it would be +a matter of half an hour, at the outside, before every one of the new +Literate crew would have heard about her Literate ability. If she'd +only played dumb, after opening that safe—</p> + +<p>Finally, by 1300, the new Literates had taken over, and the sale was +running smoothly again. Latterman was somewhere out in the store, +helping them; Claire had lunch for herself and Prestonby sent up from +the restaurant, and for a while they ate in silence, broken by +occasional spatters of small-talk. Then she returned to the question +she had raised and he had not yet answered.</p> + +<p>"You say Frank Cardon's a Literate?" she asked. "Then what's he doing +managing the Senator's campaign? Fifth-columning?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "You think the Fraternities are a solid, +monolithic, organization; everybody agreed on aims and means, and +working together in harmony? That's how it's supposed to look, from +the outside. On the inside, though, there's a bitter struggle going on +between two factions, over policy and for control. One faction wants +to maintain the <i>status quo</i>—a handful of Literates doing the reading +and writing for an Illiterate public, and holding a monopoly on +Literacy. They're headed by two men, Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves. +Bayne was one of that faction."</p> + +<p>He paused, thinking quickly. If Lancedale had gotten the upper hand, +there was likely to be a revision of the Joyner-Graves attitude toward +Pelton. In that case, the less he said to incriminate Russell +Latterman, the better. Let Bayne be the villain, for a while, he +decided.</p> + +<p>"Bayne," he continued, "is one of a small minority of fanatics who +make a religion of Literacy. I believe he disposed of your father's +medicine, and then deliberately goaded him into a rage to bring on a +heart attack. That doesn't represent Joyner-Graves policy; it was just +something he did on his own. He's probably been disciplined for it, by +now. But the Joyner-Graves faction are working for your father's +defeat and the re-election of Grant Hamilton.</p> + +<p>"The other faction is headed by a man you've probably never heard of, +William R. Lancedale. I'm of his faction, and so is Frank Cardon. We +want to see your father elected, because the socialization of Literacy +would eventually put the Literates in complete control of the +government. We also want to see Literacy become widespread, eventually +universal, just as it was before World War IV."</p> + +<p>"But Wouldn't that mean the end of the Fraternities?" Claire asked.</p> + +<p>"That's what Joyner and Graves say. We don't believe so. And suppose +it did? Lancedale says, if we're so incompetent that we have to keep +the rest of the world in ignorance to earn a living, the world's +better off without us. He says that every oligarchy carries in it the +seeds of its own destruction; that if we can't evolve with the rest of +the world, we're doomed in any case. That's why we want to elect your +father. If he can get his socialized Literacy program adopted, we'll +be in a position to load the public with so many controls and +restrictions and formalities that even the most bigoted Illiterate +will want to learn to read. Lancedale says, a private monopoly like +ours is bad, but a government monopoly is intolerable, and the only +way the public can get rid of it would be by becoming Literates, +themselves."</p> + +<p>She glanced toward the door of Pelton's private rest room.</p> + +<p>"Poor Senator!" she said softly. "He hates Literacy so, and his own +children are Literates, and his program against Literacy is being +twisted against itself!"</p> + +<p>"But you agree that we're right and he's wrong?" Prestonby asked. "You +must, or you'd never have come to me to learn to read."</p> + +<p>"He's such a good father. I'd hate to see him hurt," she said. "But, +Ralph, you're my man. Anything you're for, I'm for, and anything +you're against, I'm against."</p> + +<p>He caught her hand, across the table, forgetful of the others in the +office.</p> + +<p>"Claire, now that everybody knows—" he began.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"<i>Top emergency! Top emergency!</i>" a voice brayed out of the alarm box +on the wall. "<i>Serious disorder in Department Thirty-two! Serious +disorder in Department Thirty-two!</i>"</p> + +<p>The voice broke off as suddenly as it had begun, but the box was not +silent. From it came a medley of shouts, curses, feminine screams and +splintering crashes. Prestonby and Claire were on their feet.</p> + +<p>"You have wall screens?" he asked. "How do they work? Like the ones at +school?"</p> + +<p>Claire twisted a knob until the number 32 appeared on a dial, and +pressed a button. On the screen, the Chinaware Department on the third +floor came to life in full sound and color. The pickup must have been +across an aisle from the box from whence the alarm had come; they +could see one of Pelton's Illiterate clerks lying unconscious under +it, and the handphone dangling at the end of its cord. The aisles were +full of jostling, screaming women, trampling one another and fighting +frantically to get out, and, among them, groups of three or four men +were gathered back to back. One such group had caught a store +policeman; three were holding him while a fourth smashed vases over +his head, grabbing them from a nearby counter. A pink dinner plate +came skimming up from the crowd, narrowly missing the wired TV pickup. +A moment later, a blue-and-white sugar bowl, thrown with better aim, +came curving at them in the screen. It scored a hit, and brought +darkness, though the bedlam of sound continued.</p> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_091.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="280" /></p> + + + +<p>Cardon looked at his watch as he entered the Council Chamber at +Literates' Hall, smoothing his smock hastily under his Sam Browne. +He'd made it with very little time to spare, before the doors would be +sealed and the meeting would begin. He'd been all over town, tracking +down that report of Sforza's; he'd even made a quick visit to +Chinatown, on the off chance that "China" had been used in an attempt +at the double concealment of the obvious, but, as he'd expected, he'd +found nothing. The people there hardly knew there was to be an +election. Accustomed for millennia to ideographs read only by experts, +they viewed the current uproar about Literacy with unconcern.</p> + +<p>At the door, he deposited his pocket recorder—no sound-recording +device was permitted, except the big audio-visual camera in front, +which made the single permanent record. Going around the room +counterclockwise to the seats of his faction, he encountered two other +Lancedale men: Gerald K. Toppington, of the Technological Section, +thin-faced, sandy-haired, balding; and Franklin R. Chernov, commander +of the local Literates' guards brigade, with his ragged gray mustache, +his horribly scarred face, and his outsize tablet-holster almost as +big as a mail-order catalogue.</p> + +<p>"What's Joyner-Graves trying to do to us, Frank?" Chernov rumbled +gutturally.</p> + +<p>"It's what we're going to do to them," Cardon replied. "Didn't the +chief tell you?"</p> + +<p>Chernov shook his head. "No time. I only got here fifteen minutes ago. +Chasing all over town about that tip from Sforza. Nothing, of course. +Nothing from Sforza, either. The thing must have been planned weeks +ago, whatever it is, and everybody briefed personally, and nothing on +disk or tape about it. But what's going to happen here? Lancedale +going to pull a rabbit out of his hat?"</p> + +<p>Cardon explained. Chernov whistled. "Man, that's no rabbit; that's a +full-grown Bengal tiger! I hope it doesn't eat us, by mistake."</p> + +<p>Cardon looked around, saw Lancedale in animated argument with a group +of his associates. Some of the others seemed to be sharing Chernov's +fears.</p> + +<p>"I have every confidence in the chief," Toppington said. "If his +tigers make a meal off anybody, it'll be—" He nodded in the direction +of the other side of the chamber, where Wilton Joyner, short, bald, +pompous, and Harvey Graves, tall and cadaverous, stood in a +Rosencrantz-Guildenstern attitude, surrounded by half a dozen of their +top associates.</p> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_092.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="824" /></div> +<p>The Council President, Morehead, came out a little door onto the +rostrum and took his seat, pressing a button. The call bell began +clanging slowly. Lancedale, glancing around, saw Cardon and nodded. On +both sides of the chamber, the Literates began taking seats, and +finally the call bell stopped, and Literate President Morehead rapped +with his gavel. The opening formalities were hustled through. The +routine held-over business was rubber-stamped with hasty votes of +approval, even including the decisions of the extemporary meeting of +that morning on the affair at Pelton's. Finally, the presiding officer +rapped again and announced that the meeting was now open for new +business.</p> + +<p>At once, Harvey Graves was on his feet.</p> + +<p>"Literate President," he began, as soon as the chair had recognized +him, "this is scarcely <i>new</i> business, since it concerns a problem, a +most serious problem, which I and some of my colleagues have brought +to the attention of this Council many times in the past—the problem +of Black Literacy!" He spat out the two words as though they were a +mouthful of poison. "Literate President and fellow Literates, if +anything could destroy our Fraternities, to which we have given our +lives' devotion, it would be the widespread tendency to by-pass the +Fraternities, the practice of Literacy by non-Fraternities people—"</p> + +<p>"We've heard all that before, Wilton!" somebody from the Lancedale +side called out. "What do you want to talk about that you haven't +gotten on every record of every meeting for the last thirty years?"</p> + +<p>"Why, this Pelton business," Graves snapped back at him. "You know +what I mean. Your own associates are responsible for it!" He turned +back to face the chair, and, with a surprising minimum of invective, +described the scene in which Claire Pelton had demonstrated her +Literacy. "And that's not all, brother Literates," he continued. +"Since then, I've been receiving reports from the Pelton store. Claire +Pelton has been openly doing the work of a Literate; going over the +store's written records, checking inventories, checking the credit +guide, handling the price lists—"</p> + +<p>"What's that got to do with Black Literacy?" Gerald Toppington +demanded. "Black Literacy is a term which labels the professional +practice of Literacy, for hire, by a non-Fraternity Literate, or +Literate service furnished for criminal or politically subversive +purposes, or the betrayal of a client by a Fraternity Literate. +There's nothing of the sort involved here. This girl, who does appear +to be Literate, is simply looking after the interests of her family's +business."</p> + +<p>"She was taught by a Literate, a Fraternities-member, under, to say +the very least, irregular circumstances, and without payment of any +fee. Any fee, that is, that the Fraternities can collect any +percentage on. And the Literate who taught her also taught her younger +brother, Ray Pelton, and this Literate, who is known to be her +lover—"</p> + +<p>"Suppose he is her lover, so what?" one of Lancedale's partisans +demanded. "You say, yourself, that she's a Literate. That ought to +remove any objection. Why, if she were to come forward and admit and +demonstrate her Literacy, there'd be no possible objection from the +Fraternities' viewpoint to her marrying young Prestonby."</p> + +<p>"And as for Prestonby's action in teaching Literacy to her and to her +brother," Cardon spoke up, "I think he deserves the thanks and +commendation of the Fraternities. He's put a period to four +generations of bigoted Illiterates."</p> + +<p>Wilton Joyner was on his feet. "Will Literate Graves yield for a +motion?" he asked. "Thank you, Harvey. Literate President, and brother +Literates: I yield to no man in my abhorrence of Black Literacy, or in +my detestation for the political principles of which Chester Pelton +has made himself the spokesman, but I deny that we should allow the +acts and opinions of the Illiterate parent to sway us in our +consideration of the Literate children. It has come to my notice, as +it has to Literate Graves', that this young woman, Claire Pelton, is +Literate to a degree that would be a credit to any Literate First +Class, and her brother can match his Literacy creditably against that +of any novice in our Fraternities. To show that we respect Literate +ability, wherever we find it; to show that we are not the monopolistic +closed-corporation our enemies accuse us of being; to show that we are +not animated by a vindictive hatred of anything bearing the name of +Pelton—I move, and ask that my motion be presented for seconding, +that Claire Pelton, and her brother, Raymond Pelton, be duly elected, +respectively, to the positions of Literate Third Class and Literate +Novice, as members of the Associated Fraternities of Literates!"</p> + +<p>From the Joyner-Graves side, there were dutiful cries of, "Yes! Yes! +Admit the young Peltons!" and also gasps of horrified surprise from +the rank-and-filers who hadn't been briefed on what was coming up.</p> + +<p>Lancedale was on his feet in an instant. "Literate President!" he +cried. "In view of the delicate political situation, and in view of +Chester Pelton's violent denunciation of our Fraternities—"</p> + +<p>"Literate Lancedale," the President objected. "The motion is not to be +debated until it has been properly seconded."</p> + +<p>"What does the Literate President think I'm doing?" Lancedale +retorted. "I second the motion!"</p> + +<p>Joyner looked at Lancedale in angry surprise, which gradually became +fearful suspicion. His stooge, who had already risen with a prepared +speech of seconding, simply gaped.</p> + +<p>"Furthermore," Lancedale continued, "I move an amendment to Literate +Joyner's motion. I move that the ceremony of the administration of the +Literates' Oath, and the investiture in the smock and insignia, be +carried out as soon as possible, and that an audio-visual recording be +made, and telecast this evening, before twenty-one hundred."</p> + +<p>Brigade commander Chernov, prodded by Cardon, jumped to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Excellent!" he cried. "I second the motion to amend the motion of +Literate Joyner."</p> + +<p>If there were such a thing as a bomb which would explode stunned +silence, Lancedale and Chernov had dropped such a bomb. Cardon could +guess how Joyner and Graves felt; they were now beginning to be afraid +of their own proposition. As for the Lancedale Literates, he knew how +many of them felt. He'd felt the same way, himself, when Lancedale had +proposed the idea. He got to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Literate President, brother Literates," he raised his voice. "I call +for an immediate vote on this amended motion, which I, personally, +endorse most heartily, and which I hope to see carried unanimously."</p> + +<p>"Now, wait a minute!" Joyner objected. "This motion ought to be +debated—"</p> + +<p>"What do you want to debate about it?" Chernov demanded. "You +presented it, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I wanted to give the Council an opportunity to discuss it, as +typical of our problems in dealing with Black ... I mean, +non-Fraternities ... Literacy—"</p> + +<p>"You mean, you didn't know it was loaded!" Cardon told him. "Well, +that's your hard luck; we're going to squeeze the trigger!"</p> + +<p>"I withdraw the motion!" Joyner shouted.</p> + +<p>"Literate President," Lancedale said gently, his thin face lighting +with an almost saintly smile, "Literate Joyner simply cannot withdraw +his motion, now. It has been properly seconded and placed before the +house, and so has my own humble contribution to it. I demand that the +motion be acted upon."</p> + +<p>"Vote! Vote! Vote!" the Lancedale Literates began yelling.</p> + +<p>"I call on all my adherents to vote against this motion!" Joyner +shouted.</p> + +<p>"Now look here, Wilton!" Harvey Graves shouted, reddening with anger. +"You're just making a fool out of me. This was your idea, in the first +place! Do you want to smash everything we've ever done in the +Fraternities?"</p> + +<p>"Harvey, we can't go on with it," Joyner replied. He crossed quickly +to Graves' seat and whispered something.</p> + +<p>"For the record," Lancedale said sweetly, "our colleague, Literate +Joyner, has just whispered to Literate Graves that since I have +seconded his motion, he's now afraid of it. I think Literate Graves is +trying to assure him that my support is merely a bluff. For the +information of this body, I want to state categorically that it is +not, and that I will be deeply disappointed if this motion does not +pass."</p> + +<p>An elderly Literate on the Joyner-Graves side, an undersized man with +a bald head and a narrow mouth, was on his feet. He looked like an +aged rat brought to bay by a terrier.</p> + +<p>"I was against this fool idea from the start!" he yelled. "We've got +to keep the Illiterates down; how are we ever going to do that if we +go making Literates out of them? But you two thought you were being +smart—"</p> + +<p>"Shut up and sit down, you old jackass!" one of Joyner's people +shouted at him.</p> + +<p>"Shut up, yourself, Ginter," a hatchet-faced woman Literate from the +Finance Section squawked.</p> + +<p>Literate President Morehead, an amiable and ineffective maiden aunt in +trousers, pounded frantically with his gavel. "Order!" he fairly +screamed. "This is disgraceful!"</p> + +<p>"You can say that again!" Brigade commander Chernov boomed. "What do +you people over on the right think this is; an Illiterates' +Organization Political Action meeting?"</p> + +<p>"Vote! Vote!" Cardon bellowed.</p> + +<p>Literate President Morehead banged his gavel and, in a last effort, +started the call bell clanging.</p> + +<p>"The motion has been presented and seconded; the amendment has been +presented and seconded. It will now be put to a vote!"</p> + +<p>"Roll call!" Cardon demanded. Four or five other voices, from both +sides of the chamber, supported him.</p> + +<p>"The vote will be by roll call," Literate President Morehead agreed. +"Addison, Walter G."</p> + +<p>"Aye!" He was a subordinate of Harvey Graves.</p> + +<p>"Agostino, Pedro V."</p> + +<p>"Aye!" He was a Lancedale man.</p> + +<p>So it went on. Graves voted for the motion. Joyner voted against it. +All the Lancedale faction, now convinced that their leader had the +opposition on the run, voted loudly for it.</p> + +<p>"The vote has been one hundred and eighty-three for, seventy-two +against," Literate President Morehead finally announced. "The motion +is herewith declared carried. Literate Lancedale, I appoint you to +organize a committee to implement the said motion, at once."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Prestonby flung open the door of the rest room where Sergeant +Coccozello and his subordinate were guarding the unconscious Pelton.</p> + +<p>"Sergeant! Who's in charge of store police, now?"</p> + +<p>Coccozello looked blank for an instant. "I guess I am," he said. +"Lieutenant Dunbar's off on his vacation, in Mexico, and Captain +Freizer's in the hospital; he was taken sick suddenly last evening."</p> + +<p>Probably poisoned, Prestonby thought, making a mental note to find out +which hospital and get in touch with one of the Literate medics there.</p> + +<p>"Well, come out here, sergeant, and have a look around the store on +the TV. We have troubles."</p> + +<p>Coccozello could hear the noise that was still coming out of the +darkened screen. As he stepped forward, Claire got another pickup, +some distance from the one that had been knocked out. A mob of women +customers were surging away from the Chinaware Department, into +Glassware; they were running into the shopping crowd there, with +considerable disturbance. A couple of store police were trying to get +through the packed mass of humanity, and making slow going of it. +Coccozello swore and started calling on his reserves on one of the +handphones.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, sergeant," Prestonby stopped him. "Don't commit any of +your reserves down there. We're going to need them to hold the +executive country, up here. This is only the start of a general riot."</p> + +<p>"Who are you and what do you know about it?" Coccozello challenged.</p> + +<p>"Listen to him, Guido," Claire said. "He knows what he's doing."</p> + +<p>"Claire, you have some way of keeping a running count of the number of +customers in and out of the store, haven't you?" Prestonby asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes; here." She pointed to an indicator on Chester Pelton's +desk, where constantly changing numbers danced.</p> + +<p>"And don't you have a continuous check on sales, too? How do they +jibe?"</p> + +<p>"They don't; look. Sales are away below any expectation from the +number of customers, even allowing for shopping habits of a +bargain-day crowd. But what's that got to do—"</p> + +<p>Prestonby was back at the TV, shifting from pickup to pickup.</p> + +<p>"Look, sergeant, Claire. That isn't a normal bargain-day crowd, is it? +Look at those groups of men, three or four to a group, shifting +around, waiting for something to happen. This store's been +infiltrated by a big goon gang. That business in Chinaware's just the +start, to draw our reserves down to the third floor. Look at that, +now."</p> + +<p>He had a pickup on the twelfth floor, the floor just under the public +landing stages, and at the foot of the escalators leading to the +central executive block.</p> + +<p>"See how they're concentrating, there?" he pointed out. "In that +ladies' wear department, there are three men for every woman, and the +men are all drifting from counter to counter over in the direction of +our escalators."</p> + +<p>Coccozello swore again, feelingly. "Literate, you know your stuff!" he +said. "That fuss in China is just a feint; this is where they're +really going to hit. What do you think it is? Macy & Gimbel's trying +to bust up our sale, or politics?"</p> + +<p>Prestonby shrugged. "Take your choice. A competitor would concentrate +where your biggest volume of sale was going on, though; political +enemies would try to get up here, and that's what this gang's trying +to do."</p> + +<p>"He's absolutely right, Guido," Claire told the sergeant. "Do whatever +he tells you."</p> + +<p>Sergeant Coccozello looked at him, awaiting orders.</p> + +<p>"We can't commit our reserves in that Chinaware Department fight; we +need them up here. Where are they, now, and how many?"</p> + +<p>"Thirteen, counting myself and the man in there." He nodded toward the +room where Chester Pelton lay in drugged sleep. "In the squad room, on +the floor below."</p> + +<p>"And for the mob below to get up here?"</p> + +<p>"Two escalators, sir, northeast and southwest corners of office +country. And we got some new counters that Mr. Latterman had built, +that didn't get put out in time for the sale. We can use them to build +barricades, if we have to."</p> + +<p>"How about a 'copter attack on the roof?"</p> + +<p>Coccozello grinned. "I'd like to see that, now, Literate. We got +plenty of A-A equipment up there—four 7-mm machine guns, two 12-mm's, +and one 20-mm auto-cannon. We could hold off the State Guard with +that."</p> + +<p>"That isn't saying much, but they're not even that good. So it'll be +the escalators. Think, now, sergeant. Fires, burglary, holdups—"</p> + +<p>The sergeant's grin widened. "High-pressure fire hose, one at the head +of each escalator, and a couple more that can be dragged over from +other outlets. Say we put two men on each hose, lying down at the head +of the escalators. And we got plenty of firearms; we can arm some of +these clerks, up here—"</p> + +<p>"All right; do that. And put out an emergency call, by +inter-department telephone, not by public address, to floorwalkers +from the fifth floor down, to gather up all male clerks and other +store personnel in their departments, arm them with anything they can +find, and rush them to Chinaware. Tell them to shout 'Pelton!' when +they hit the mob, to avoid breaking each others' heads in the +confusion, and tell them they're expected to hold the Chinaware and +Glassware departments themselves, without any help from the store +police."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Claire wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"That's how battles come to happen at the wrong time and place," +Prestonby told her. "Two small detachments collide, and each sends +back for re-enforcements, and the next thing anybody knows, there's a +full-size battle going on where nobody wants to fight one. We're going +to fight our main battle at the head of the escalators from the +twelfth floor."</p> + +<p>"You've done this sort of work before, Literate," Coccozello grinned. +"You talk like a storm-troop captain. What else?"</p> + +<p>"Well, so far, we've just been talking defense. We need to take the +offensive, ourselves." He glanced around. "Is there a freight elevator +from this block to the basement?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. Wait till I see." Coccozello went to the TV-screen and dialed. +"Yeah, and the elevator's up here, too," he said.</p> + +<p>"Well, you take what men you can spare—a couple of your cops, and a +couple of the office crew—arm them with pistols, carbines, clubs, +whatever you please, and take them down to the basement. Gather up +all the warehouse gang, down there, and arm them. And as soon as you +get to the basement, send the elevator back up here. That's our life +line; we can't risk having it captured. You'll organize flying squads +to go up into the store from the basement. Bust up any trouble that +seems to be getting started, if you can, but your main mission will be +to rescue store police, Literates, Literates' guards, and store help, +and get them back to the basement. They'll be picked up from there and +brought up here on the elevator." He picked up a pad from a desk and +wrote a few lines on it. "Show this to any Literate you meet; get +Literate Hopkinson to countersign it for you, when you find him. Tell +him we want his whole gang up here as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>"How about getting help from outside?" Claire asked. "The city police, +or—"</p> + +<p>"City police won't lift a finger," Prestonby told her. "They never +help anybody who has a private police force; they have too much to do +protecting John Q. Citizen. Hutschnecker; suppose you call +Radical-Socialist campaign headquarters; tell them to rush some of +their Lone Rangers around here—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + + + +<p>Russell M. Latterman was lunching in the store restaurant, at a table +next the thick glass partition, where he could look out across +Confectionery and Pastries toward the Tobacco Shoppe and the Liquor +Department. There were two ways of looking at it, of course. He was +occupying a table that might have been used by a customer, but, on the +other hand, he was known by sight to many of the customers, and the +fact that he was eating here had some advertising value, and he could +keep his eye on the business going on around him. Off in the distance, +he caught the white flash of a Literate smock at one of the counters; +one of the new crew sent in to replace the ones Bayne had pulled out. +He was glad and at the same time disturbed. He had had his doubts +about staging a Literates' strike, and he was almost positive that +Wilton Joyner had known nothing about it. The whole thing had been +Harvey Graves' idea. There was a serious question of Literate ethics +involved, to say nothing of the effect on the public. The trick of +forcing Claire Pelton to reveal her secret Literacy was all right, +although he wished that it had been Frank Cardon who had opened that +safe. Or did he? Cardon would have brazened it out, claimed to have +memorized the combination after having learned it by observation, and +would probably have gotten away with it. But that silly girl had lost +her head afterward, and had gone on to brand herself, irrevocably, as +a Literate.</p> + +<p>One of the waitresses was hurrying toward him, almost falling over +herself in excitement. She began talking when she was ten feet from +the table.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Latterman! Mr. Latterman!" she was calling to him. "A terrible +fight, down in Chinaware—!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what do we have store police for?" he demanded. "They can take +care of it. Now be quiet, Madge; don't get the customers excited!"</p> + +<p>He returned to his lunch, watching, with satisfaction, the crowd that +was packing into the Liquor Department, next to the restaurant. That +special loss-leader, Old Atom-Bomb Rye, had been a good idea. In the +first place, the stuff was fit for nothing but cleaning drains and +removing varnish; if he were Pelton, he would have fired that fool +buyer who got them overstocked on it. But the audio-advertiser, +outside, was reiterating: "<i>Choice whiskies, two hundred dollars a +sixth and up!</i>" and pulling in the customers, who, when they +discovered that the two-hundred-dollar bargain was Old Atom-Bomb, were +shelling out five hundred to a grand a sixth for good liquor.</p> + +<p>He finished his coffee and got to his feet. Be a good idea to look in +on Liquor, and see how things were going. The department was getting +more and more crowded every minute; three customers were entering for +every one who left.</p> + +<p>On the way, he passed two women, and caught a snatch of conversation:</p> + +<p>"Don't go down on the third floor, for Heaven's sake ... terrible +fight ... smashing everything up—"</p> + +<p>Worried, he continued into Liquor, and the looks of the crowd there +increased his worries. Too many men between twenty and thirty, all +dressed alike, looking alike, talking and acting alike. It looked like +a goon-gang infiltration, and he was beginning to see why Harvey +Graves had wanted the Literates pulled out, and why Joyner, bound by +ethics to do nothing against the commercial interests of Pelton's, had +known nothing about it. He started toward a counter, to speak to a +clerk, but one of the stocky, quietly-dressed young men stepped in +front of him.</p> + +<p>"Gimme a bottle of Atom-Bomb," he said. "Don't bother wrapping it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." The clerk seemed worried, too. He got the bottle and set +it on the counter. "That'll be two C, sir."</p> + +<p>"I see you're wearing a Radical-Socialist button," the customer +commented. "Because you want to, or because Chet Pelton makes you?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Pelton never interferes with his employees' political +convictions," the clerk replied loyally.</p> + +<p>Saying nothing, the customer took the bottle, swung it by the neck, +and smashed it over the clerk's head, knocking him senseless.</p> + +<p>"That's all that rotgut's good for," the customer said, jumping over +the counter. "All right, boys; help yourselves!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For a surprisingly long time, the riot was localized in China, where +it had begun. Using, alternately, three TV-pickups around the scene of +the disturbance, Prestonby watched its progress, and watched +successive details of store personnel, armed with clubs and a few +knives and sono pistols, hit the riot, shouting their battle cry, and +vanish. They were, of course, lambs of sacrifice, however unlamblike +their conduct. They were buying time, and they were drawing groups of +goons into the action in China and Glassware who might have been +making trouble elsewhere.</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_109.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="426" /></p> +<p>There was an outbreak on the sixth floor, in Liquor; Claire, touring +the store on the other TV-screen, spotted it and called his attention +to it. Back of the shattered glass partition, a mob of men were +snatching bottles from the shelves and tossing them out to the crowd. +One of the clerks, in his gray uniform jacket, was lying unconscious +outside. While Prestonby watched, another, and another, came flying +out the doorway. A fourth victim, in ordinary business clothes, +tattered and disheveled, came flying out after them, to land in a +heap, stunned for an instant, and then pick himself up. Prestonby +laughed heartily when he recognized Literate—undercover—First Class +Russell M. Latterman.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have anticipated that," he said. "Any time there's a riot, +the liquor stores are the first things looted. The liquor stores, and +the—Claire! See what's going on in Sporting Goods!"</p> + +<p>Sporting Goods, between Tools & Hardware and Toys, on the fifth floor, +was swamped. One of the clerks was lying on the floor in a puddle of +blood, past any help; none of the others were in sight. The gun racks +and pistol cases were being cleaned out systematically. This had been +organized in advance. There were four or five men working +industriously wiping grease out of bores and actions before handing +out firearms, and a couple more making sure that the right cartridges +went with each weapon. Somebody had brought a small grinding wheel +over from Tools and plugged it in, and was grinding points on the +foils and épées. Others were collecting baseball bats, golf clubs, and +football helmets and catchers' masks. The Tool Department was being +stripped of everything that could be used as a weapon, too.</p> + +<p>The whole store, by this time, was an approximation of Mutiny in a +Madhouse. Dressgoods was being looted by a howling mob of women, who +were pulling bolts of material from shelves and fighting among +themselves over them. Somebody had turned on the electric fans, and +long streams of flimsy fabric were blowing about like a surrealist +maypole dance. Somebody in Household Furnishings had turned on a +couple of fans, too, and a mob of hoodlums were opening cans of paint +and throwing them into the fan blades.</p> + +<p>The little Antiques Department, in a corner of the fourth floor back +of the Gift Shoppe, was an island of peace in the general chaos. There +was only one way into it, and one of the clerks, who had gotten +himself into a suit of Fifteenth Century battle armor, was standing in +the entrance, leaning on a two-hand sword. There was blood on the long +blade, and more blood splashed on the floor in front of him. He was +being left entirely alone.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Hutschnecker, called to the telephone, spoke briefly, listened for a +while, spoke again in hearty thanks, and hung up.</p> + +<p>"Macy & Gimbel's," he told Prestonby. "They heard about our +trouble—probably one of their price-spotters phoned in about it—and +they're offering to send twenty of their store-cops to help us out. +They'll be landing on our stage in eight minutes, rifles and steel +helmets."</p> + +<p>Prestonby nodded. It would have been quite conceivable that Pelton's +chief competitor had started the riot; since they hadn't, their offer +of armed aid was just as characteristic of the bitter but +mutually-respectful rivalries of the commercial world. A few minutes +later, another call came in, this time on the visiphone. Prestonby +took it when he saw a Literates' Guards officer in the screen and +recognized him.</p> + +<p>"That you, Prestonby?" the officer, Major Slater, asked in some +surprise. "Didn't know you were at Pelton's. What's going on, there?"</p> + +<p>Prestonby told him, briefly.</p> + +<p>"Yes; we had some of our people at the store, in plain clothes," +Slater said. "Just in case of trouble. On Mr. L.'s orders. They +reported a riot starting, but naturally, their reports were +incomplete. Can you get one of your landing stages cleared for us? We +have two hundred men, in twenty 'copters." Then he must have noticed +some of the store Illiterates back of Prestonby, and realized that +this offer of help to Literacy's worst enemy would arouse suspicion. +"Not that we care what happens to Chester Pelton, but we have to +protect our own people at the store."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," Prestonby agreed. "Come in on our north stage. +You'll probably find a fight going on on our twelfth floor, just +inside. Anybody who's trying to get up the escalators to the office +block will be an enemy."</p> + +<p>"Right. We're halfway there now." The Literates' Guards officer broke +the connection.</p> + +<p>"You heard that?" he asked, turning to the others in the office. "If +we can hold out till they get here, we're all right. Did you contact +Radical-Socialist headquarters, yet, Hutschnecker?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I talked to a fellow named Yingling. He said that all the party +storm troops had been lured out to some kind of a disturbance in North +Jersey Borough; he'd try to get them recalled."</p> + +<p>Prestonby swore bitterly. "By the time his own party-goons get here, +the Literates' Guards and Macy & Gimbel's will have pulled Pelton's +bacon off the fire for him. Nice friends he has!"</p> + +<p>An alarm buzzer went off suddenly, and an urgent voice came out of the +box on the wall:</p> + +<p>"Here come the goons! South escalator!"</p> + +<p>Prestonby grabbed a burp gun and a canvas musette bag full of clips. +By the time he had gotten down to what, in deference to the +superstitions of the Illiterate store force, was known as the +fourteenth floor, an attack on the north escalator had developed as +well. In both cases, the attackers seemed to expect no organized +resistance. They simply jumped onto the escalators, adding their own +running speed, and came rushing up, firing pistols ahead of them at +random.</p> + +<p>The defenders, however, had been ready: the fire hoses caught those in +the lead and hurled them back. Some of them vaulted the barrier +between the ascending and descending spirals and let themselves be +carried down again. Less than five minutes after the buzzer had +sounded the warning, the attack stopped. The noise on the twelfth +floor increased, however, and, leaning over into the escalator-way, +Prestonby could see the rioters firing in the direction of the +entrance from the north landing stage. Within a matter of thirty +seconds, they began to flee, and a wave of Literates' Guards, in their +futuristic "space cadet" uniforms, came pouring in after them.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Douglass MacArthur Yetsko put the burp gun back together again, tried +the action, and laid it aside with a sigh. He had cleaned every weapon +in his and Prestonby's private arsenal, since lunch, and now he had to +admit the unpalatable fact that there was nothing left to do but turn +on the TV. Ray had been no company at all; the boy hadn't spoken a +word since he'd started rummaging among the captain's books. Gloomily, +he snapped on the screen to sample the soap shows.</p> + +<p>Della Pallas was in jail again, this time accused of murdering the +lawyer who had gotten her acquitted on a previous murder rap. +Considering the fact that she had languished in jail for almost a year +during the other trial, Yetsko felt that she had a sound motive. +Rudolf Barstow, in "Broadway Wife," was, like Bruce's spider, +spinning his five hundredth web to ensnare the glamorous Marie +Knobble. And there was a show about a schoolteacher and her class of +angelic little tots that almost brought Yetsko's lunch up.</p> + +<p>He shifted the dial again; a young Literate announcer was speaking +quickly, excitedly:</p> + +<p>"... Scene of the riot, already the worst this year, and growing +steadily worse. We take you now to downtown Manhattan, where our +portable units and commentators have just arrived, and switch you to +Ed Morgan."</p> + +<p>The screen went black, and Yetsko swore angrily. Ray lifted his head +quickly from his book and reached for the sono pistol Yetsko had given +him.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and just a moment, until we can +give you the picture. We're having what is usually labeled as 'slight +technical difficulties,' in this case the difficulty of avoiding +having a hole shot in our camera or in your commentator's head. Yes, +that's shooting you hear; there, somebody's using an auto rifle! How +are you coming, Steve?"</p> + +<p>A voice muttered something which, two centuries ago, would have caused +an earth-shaking scandal in the whole radio-TV industry.</p> + +<p>"Well, till Steve gets things fixed up, a brief review, to date, of +what's sure to go down in history as the Battle of Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise—"</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Ray fairly shouted, the book forgotten.</p> + +<p>"... Started in the Chinaware Department, as a relatively innocent +brawl, and spread to the Liquor Department, and then, all of a sudden, +everybody started playing rough. At first, it was suspected that Macy +& Gimbel's had sent a goon gang around to break up Pelton's fall sale, +but when the former concern rallied to the assistance of their +competitor with a force of twenty riflemen, that began to look less +likely, and we're beginning to think that it might be the work of some +of Pelton's political enemies. About ten minutes ago, Major James F. +Slater, of the Literates' Guards, arrived with two hundred of his men, +to protect the Literates on duty at the store. They captured the +entire twelfth floor, where we are, now, with the exception of the +Ladies' Lingerie and Hosiery departments around one of the escalators +to the lower floors; here the gang who started the riot, and who are +now donning white hoods to distinguish themselves from the various +other factions involved, have thrown up barricades of counters and +display tables and are fighting bitterly to keep control of the +escalator head. Ah, here we are!"</p> + +<p>The screen lit suddenly, and they were looking, Ray over Yetsko's +shoulder, across the devastated expanse of what had been the Ladies' +Frocks department, toward Lingerie and Hosiery, which seemed to have +been thoroughly looted, then stripped of everything that could be used +to build a barricade.</p> + +<p>"... Seems to have been quite a number of heavy 'copters just landed +on the east stage, filled with more goons, probably to re-enforce the +gang back of that barricade. The firing's gotten noticeably heavier—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Yetsko had turned from the screen, and was pawing in the arms locker. +For a job like this, he'd need firepower. He took the ten-shot clip +from the butt of his pistol and inserted one with a curling +hundred-shot drum at the bottom, and shoved two more like it into the +pockets of his jacket. And now, something to clear the way with. He +took out a three-foot length of weighted fire hose.</p> + +<p>Then he saw Ray. That kid was pinning him down, here, while the +captain was probably fighting for his life! But the captain'd told him +to stay with Ray—He dropped the weighted hose.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Doug?" the boy asked. "Pick it up and let's get +going."</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "Can't. The captain told me I had to take care of +you."</p> + +<p>The boy opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and thought for a +moment. Then he asked:</p> + +<p>"Doug, didn't Captain Prestonby tell you to stay with me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—"</p> + +<p>"All right. You do just that, because I'm going to help Claire and the +senator. That's who that goon gang's after."</p> + +<p>Yetsko considered the proposition for a moment, horrified. Why, this +was the captain's girl's kid brother; if anything happened to him—His +mind refused to contemplate what the captain would do to him.</p> + +<p>"No. You gotta stay here, Ray," he said. "The captain—"</p> + +<p>Then his eye caught the screen. Ed Morgan must have found a place +where he could run his camera up on an extension rod from behind +something; they were looking down, from almost ceiling height, at the +barricade, and at the Literates' guards who were firing from cover at +it. A sudden blast of automatic-weapons burst from the barricade; more +men in white hoods came boiling up the escalator, and they all rushed +forward. The few Literates' guards skirmishers were overwhelmed. He +saw one of them, a man he knew, Sam Igoe, from Company 5, go down +wounded; he saw one of the white-hooded goons pause to brain him with +a carbine butt before charging on.</p> + +<p>"Why, you dirty rotten Illiterate—!" he roared, retrieving his +weighted hose. "Come on, Ray; let's go!"</p> + +<p>Ray hesitated, as though in thought. "Ken Dorchin; Harry Cobb; Dick +Hirschfield; Jerry McCarty; Ramon Nogales; Pete Shawne; Tom +Hutchinson—"</p> + +<p>"Who—?" Yetsko began. "What've they gotta do with—?"</p> + +<p>"We need a gang; the two of us'd last about as long as a pint of beer +at a Dutch picnic." Ray went to the desk, grabbed a pen, and made a +list of names, in a fair imitation of Ralph Prestonby's neat +block-printing. "Give this to the girl outside, and tell her to have +them called for and sent in here," the boy directed. "And see if you +can find us some transport. I think there ought to be a couple of big +'copters finished down at the shops. And if you can find a couple more +Literates' guards you can talk into going with us—"</p> + +<p>Yetsko nodded and took the paper without question. He was not, and he +would be the first to admit it, of the thinking type. He was a good +sergeant, but he had to have an officer to tell him what to do. Ray +Pelton might be only fifteen years old, but his sister was the +captain's girl, and that put him in the officer class. A very young +and recently-commissioned second lieutenant, say, but definitely an +officer. Yetsko took the list and looked at it. Like most Literates' +guards, he could read, after a fashion. He recognized the names; the +boys were all members of the top floor secret society. He went out and +gave the list to Martha Collins.</p> + +<p>He'd expected some argument with her, but she seemed to accept Ray +Pelton's printing as Prestonby's; she began checking room charts and +class lists, and calling for the boys to be sent at once to the +office. He went out, and down to the 'copter repair shop, where he +found that a big four-ton air truck that the senior class had been +working on for several weeks was finished.</p> + +<p>"That thing been tested, yet?" he asked the instructor.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I had it up, myself, this morning. Flew it over to the Bronx and +back with a load of supplies."</p> + +<p>"O. K. Have somebody you can trust—one of your guards, +preferably—bring it around behind the Administration Wing. Captain +Prestonby wants it. I'm to take some boys from Fourth Year Civics on a +tour. Something about election campaign methods."</p> + +<p>The instructor called a Literates' guard and gave him instructions. +Yetsko went to the guards' squad room on the second floor, where he +found half a dozen of the reserves loafing.</p> + +<p>"All right; you guys start earning your pay," he said. "We're going to +a party."</p> + +<p>The men got to their feet and began gathering their weapons.</p> + +<p>"Mason," he continued, "you have your big 'copter here; the gang of +you can all get in it. I'm taking off in a four-ton truck, with some +of these kids. I want you boys to follow us. We're going to Pelton's +store. There's a fight going on there, and the captain's in the middle +of it. We gotta get him out."</p> + +<p>They all looked at him in puzzled surprise, but nobody gave him any +argument. Funny, now that he thought of it; it had been quite a long +time since anybody had ever given him any argument about anything. A +couple of guys out in Pittsburgh had tried it, but somehow they'd lost +interest in arguing, after a little—</p> + +<p>When he returned to the office and opened the door, a blast of shots +greeted him through the open door of Prestonby's private office. He +had his pistol out before he realized that the shooting was going on +at Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise, ten miles away. Literate Martha +Collins, in the inner room, was fairly screaming: "Shut that infernal +thing off and listen to me!"</p> + +<p>The dozen-odd boys whom Ray had recruited for the improvised +relief-expedition were pulling weapons out of the gun locker, pawing +through the boxes on the ammunition shelf, trying to explain to one +another the working of machine carbines and burp guns. Yetsko +shouldered through them and turned down the sound volume of the TV.</p> + +<p>"This is absolutely outrageous!" Literate Martha Collins stormed at +him. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking these children to a +murderous battle like that—"</p> + +<p>"Well, maybe it ain't right, using savages in a civilized riot," +Yetsko admitted, "but I don't care. The captain's in a jam, and I'd +use live devils, if I could catch a few." He took a burp gun from one +of the boys, who had opened the action and couldn't get it closed +again. "Here; you kids don't want this kinda stuff," he reproved. +"Sono guns, and sleep-gas guns, that's all right. But these things are +killing tools!"</p> + +<p>"It's what we'll have to use, Doug," Ray told him. "Things have been +happening, since you went out. Look at the screen."</p> + +<p>Yetsko looked, and swore blisteringly. Then he gave the burp gun back +to the boy.</p> + +<p>"Look; you gotta press this little gismo, here, to let the action shut +when there's no clip in, or when the clip's empty. When you got a +loaded clip in, you just pull back on this and let go—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank Cardon looked at his watch, and saw that it was 1345, as it had +been ten seconds before, when he had last looked. He started to drum +nervously on his chair arm with his fingers, then caught himself as he +saw Lancedale, who must have been every bit as anxious as himself, +standing outwardly calm and unruffled.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's the situation which now confronts us, brother +Literates," the slender, white-haired man was finishing. "You must +see, by now, that the policy of unyielding opposition which some of +you have advocated and pursued is futile. You know the policy I favor, +which now remains the only policy we can follow; it is summed up in +that law of political strategy: If you can't lick 'em, join 'em, and, +after joining, take control.</p> + +<p>"In spite of the Radical-Socialist victory in this state at tomorrow's +election, it will not be possible, in the next Congress, to enact +Pelton's socialized Literacy program into law. The Radicals will not +be able to capture enough seats in the lower house, and there are too +many uncontested seats in the Senate now held by +Independent-Conservatives. But, and this is inevitable, barring some +unforeseen accident of the order of a political cataclysm, they will +control both houses of Congress after the election of 2144, two years +hence, and we can also be sure that two years hence Chester Pelton +will be nominated and overwhelmingly elected president of the +Consolidated States of North America. Six months thereafter, the +socialized Literacy program will be the law of the land.</p> + +<p>"So, we have until mid-2145 to make our preparations. I would estimate +that, if we do not destroy ourselves by our own folly in the meantime, +we should, two years thereafter, be in complete if secret control of +the whole Consolidated States Government. If any of you question that +last statement, you can merely ask yourselves one question: How, in +the name of all that is rational, can Illiterates control and operate +a system of socialized Literacy? Who but Literates can keep such a +program from disintegrating into complete and indescribable confusion?</p> + +<p>"I don't ask for any decision at this time. I do not ask for any +debate at this time. Let each of us consider the situation in his or +her own mind, and let us meet again a week from today to consider our +future course of action, each of us realizing that any decision we +take then will determine forever the fate of our Fraternities." He +looked around the room. "Thank you, brother Literates," he said.</p> + +<p>Instantly, Cardon was on his feet with a motion to recess the meeting +until 1300 the following Monday, and Brigade commander Chernov +seconded the motion immediately. As soon as Literate President +Morehead's gavel banged, Cardon, still on his feet, was running for +the double doors at the rear; the two Literates' guards on duty there +got them unsealed and opened by the time he had reached them.</p> + +<p>There was another guard in the hall, waiting for him with a little +record-disk.</p> + +<p>"From Major Slater; call came in about ten minutes ago," he said.</p> + +<p>Cardon snapped the disk into his recorder-reproducer and put in the +ear plug.</p> + +<p>"Frank," Slater's voice came out of the small machine. "You'd better +get busy, or you won't have any candidate when the polls open +tomorrow. Just got a call from Pelton's store—place infiltrated by +goons, estimated strength two hundred, presumed +Independent-Conservatives. Serious rioting already going on; I'm +taking my reserve company there. And if you haven't found out, yet, +where China is, it's on the third floor, next to Glassware."</p> + +<p>Cardon pulled out the ear plug, stuffed the recorder into his trouser +pocket, and began unbuckling his Sam Browne as he ran for the nearest +wall visiphone. He was dialing the guard room on that floor with one +hand as he took off the belt.</p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_131.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="323" /></p> +<p>"Get a big ambulance on the roof, with a Literate medic and +orderly-driver," he ordered, unbuttoning his smock. "And four guards, +plain clothes if possible, but don't waste time changing clothes if +you don't have anybody out of uniform. Heavy-duty sono guns, sleep-gas +projectors, gas masks and pistols. Hurry." He threw the smock and belt +at the guard. "Here, Pancho; put these away for me. Thanks." He tossed +the last word back over his shoulder as he ran for the escalator.</p> + + + +<p>It was three eternal minutes after he had reached the landing stage +above before the ambulance arrived, medic and orderly on the front +seat and the four guards, all in conservatively cut civilian clothes, +inside. He crowded in beside the medic, told him, "Pelton's store," +and snapped the door shut as the big white 'copter began to rise.</p> + +<p>They climbed to five thousand feet, and then the driver nosed his +vehicle up, cut his propeller and retracted it, and fired his rocket, +aiming toward downtown Manhattan. Four minutes later, after the rocket +stopped firing and they were on the down-curve of their trajectory, +the propeller was erected and they began letting down toward the +central landing stage of Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise. Cardon cut in +the TV and began calling the control tower.</p> + +<p>"Ambulance, to evacuate Mr. Pelton," he called. "What's the score, +down there?"</p> + +<p>One of Pelton's traffic-control men appeared on Cardon's screen. +"You're safe to land on the central stage, but you'd better come in at +a long angle from the north," he said. "We control the north public +stage, but the east and south stages are in the hands of the goons; +they'd fire on you. Land beside that big pile of boxes under +tarpaulins up here, but be careful; it's fireworks we didn't have time +to get into storage."</p> + +<p>The ambulance came slanting in from uptown, and Cardon looked around +anxiously. The May-fly dance of customers' 'copters had stopped; there +was a Sabbath stillness about the big store, at least visually. A few +small figures in Literates' guards black leather moved about on the +north landing stage, and several Pelton employees were on the central +stop stage. The howling of the 'copter propeller overhead effectively +blocked out any sounds that might be coming from the building, at +least until the ambulance landed. Then a spatter of firing from below +was audible.</p> + +<p>Cardon, the medic and the guards piled out, the latter with the +stretcher. The orderly-driver got out his tablet pistol and checked +the chamber, then settled into a posture of watchful relaxation. Major +Slater was waiting for them by one of the vertical lift platforms.</p> + +<p>"I tried to get hold of you, but that blasted meeting was going on, +and they had the doors sealed, and—" he began.</p> + +<p>Cardon hushed him quickly. "Around here, I'm an Illiterate," he +warned. "Where's Pelton? We've got to get him and his daughter out of +here, at once."</p> + +<p>"He's still flat on his back, out cold," Slater said. "The medic you +sent around here gave him a shot of hypnotaine: he'll be out for a +couple of hours, yet. Prestonby's still here. He's commanding the +defense; doing a good job, too."</p> + +<p>That was good. Ralph would help get Claire to Literates' Hall, after +they'd gotten her father to safety.</p> + +<p>"There must be about five hundred Independent-Conservative storm +troopers in the store," Slater was saying. "Most of them got here +after we did. The city cops have all the street approaches roped off; +they're letting nobody but Grant Hamilton's thugs in."</p> + +<p>"They were fairly friendly this morning," Cardon said. "Mayor Jameson +must have passed the word." They all got off the lift two floors down, +where they found Claire Pelton and Ralph Prestonby waiting. "Hello, +Ralph. Claire. What's the situation?"</p> + +<p>"We have all the twelfth floor," Prestonby said. "We have about half +the eleventh, including the north and west public stages. We have the +basement and the storerooms and the warehouse—Sergeant Coccozello's +down there, with as many of the store police and Literates and +Literates' guards and store-help as he could salvage, and the +warehouse gang. They've taken most of the ground floor, the main +mezzanine, and parts of the second floor. We moved two of the 7-mm +machine guns down from the top, and we control the front street +entrance with them and a couple of sono guns. The store's isolated +from the outside by the city police, who are allowing re-enforcements +to come through for the raiders, but we're managing to stop them at +the doors."</p> + +<p>"Have you called Radical-Socialist headquarters for help?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, half a dozen times. There's some fellow named Yingling there, +who says that all their storm troops are over in North Jersey, on some +kind of a false-alarm riot-call, and can't be contacted."</p> + +<p>"So?" Cardon commented gently. "That's too bad, now." Too bad for +Horace Yingling and Joe West; this time tomorrow, they'll be a pair of +dead traitors, he thought. "Well, we'll have to make do with what we +have. Where's Russ Latterman, by the way?"</p> + +<p>Prestonby gave a sidewise glance toward Claire and shook his head, his +lips pressed tightly together. <i>She doesn't know, yet</i>, Cardon +interpreted.</p> + +<p>"Down in the basement, with Coccozello," Prestonby said, aloud. "We're +in telephone communication with Coccozello, and have a freight +elevator running between here and the basement. Coccozello says +Latterman is using a rifle against the raiders, killing every one he +can get a shot at."</p> + +<p>Cardon nodded. Probably vindictive about being involved in action +injurious to Pelton's commercial interests; just another odd quirk of +Literate ethics.</p> + +<p>"We'd better get him up here," he said. "You and I have got to leave, +at once; we have to get Pelton and Claire to safety. He can help Major +Slater till we can get back with re-enforcements. I am going to kill a +man named Horace Yingling, and then I'm going to round up the storm +troops he diverted on a wild-goose chase to North Jersey." He nodded +to the medic and the four plain-clothes guards. "Get Pelton on the +stretcher. Better use the canvas flaps and the straps. He's under +hypnotaine, but it's likely to be a rough trip. Claire, get anything +you want to take with you. Ralph will take you where you'll be safe +for a while."</p> + +<p>"But the store—" Claire began.</p> + +<p>"Your father has riot-insurance, doesn't he? I know he does; they +doubled the premium on him when he came out for Senate. Let the +insurance company worry about the store."</p> + +<p>The medic and the guards moved into Chester Pelton's private rest room +with the stretcher. Claire went to the desk and began picking up odds +and ends, including the pistol Cardon had given her, and putting them +in her handbag.</p> + +<p>"We've got to keep her away from her father, for a few days, Ralph," +he told Prestonby softly. "It's all over town that she can read and +write. We've got to give him a chance to cool off before he sees her +again. Take her to Lancedale. I have everything fixed up; she'll be +admitted to the Fraternities this afternoon, and given Literate +protection."</p> + +<p>Prestonby grabbed his hand impulsively. "Frank! I'll never be able to +repay you for this, not if I live to be a thousand—" he began.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden blast of sound from overhead—the banging of +machine guns, the bark of the store's 20-mm auto-cannon, the howling +of airplane jets, and the crash of explosions. Everybody in the room +jerked up and stood frozen, then Prestonby jumped for the TV-screen +and pawed at the dials. A moment later, after the screen flashed and +went black twice, they were looking across the topside landing stage +from a pickup at one corner.</p> + +<p>A slim fighter-bomber, with square-tipped, backswept, wings, was +jetting up in almost perpendicular flight; another was coming in +toward the landing stage, and, as they watched, a flight of rockets +leaped forward from under its wings. Cardon saw the orderly-driver of +the ambulance jump down and start to run for the open lift-shaft. He +got five steps away from his vehicle. Then the rockets came in, and +one of them struck the tarpaulin-covered pile of boxes beside the +ambulance. There was a flash of multicolored flame, in which the man +and the vehicle he had left both vanished. Immediately, the screen +went black.</p> + +<p>The fireworks had mostly exploded at the first blast; however, when +Cardon and Major Slater and one or two others reached the top landing +stage, there were still explosions. A thing the size and shape of a +two-gallon kettle, covered with red paper, came rolling toward them, +and suddenly let go with a blue-green flash, throwing a column of +smoke, in miniature imitation of an A-bomb, into the air. Something +about three feet long came whizzing at them on the end of a tail of +fire, causing them to fling themselves flat; involuntarily, Cardon's +head jerked about and his eyes followed it until it blew up with a +flash and a bang three blocks uptown. Here and there, colored fire +flared, small rockets flew about, and firecrackers popped.</p> + +<p>The ambulance was gone, blown clear off the roof. The other 'copters +on the landing stage were a tangled mass of wreckage. The 20-mm was +toppled over; the gunner was dead, and one of the crew, half-dazed, +was trying to drag a third man from under the overturned gun. The +control tower, with the two 12-mm machine guns, was wrecked. The two +7-mm's that had been left on the top had vanished, along with the +machine gunners, in a hole that had been blown in the landing stage.</p> + +<p>Cardon, Slater, and the others dashed forward and pulled the +auto-cannon off the injured man, hauling him and his companion over to +the lift. The two rakish-winged fighter-bombers were returning, +spraying the roof with machine-gun bullets, and behind them came a +procession of fifteen big 'copters. They dropped the lift hastily; +Slater jumped off when it was still six feet above the floor, and +began shouting orders.</p> + +<p>"Falk: take ten men and get to the head of this lift-shaft! Burdick, +Levine: get as many men as you can in thirty seconds, and get up to +the head of the escalator! Diaz: go down and tell Sternberg to bring +all his gang up here!"</p> + +<p>Cardon caught up a rifle and rummaged for a bandolier of ammunition, +losing about a minute in the search. The delay was fortunate; when he +got to the escalators, he was met by a rush of men hurrying down the +ascending spiral or jumping over onto the descending one.</p> + +<p>"Sono guns!" one of them was shouting. "They have the escalator head +covered; you'll get knocked out before you get off the spiral!"</p> + +<p>He turned and looked toward the freight lift. It was coming down +again, with Falk and his men unconscious on it, knocked senseless by +bludgeons of inaudible sound, and a half a dozen of the 'copter-borne +raiders, all wearing the white robes and hoods of the +Independent-Conservative storm troops. He swung his rifle up and began +squeezing the trigger, remembering to first make sure that the +fire-control lever was set forward for semiauto, and remembering his +advice to Goodkin, that morning. By the time the platform had stopped, +all the men in white robes were either dead or wounded, and none of +the unconscious Literates' guards along with them had been injured. +The medic who had come with Cardon, assisted by a couple of the office +force, got the casualties sorted out. There was nothing that could be +done about the men who had been sono-stunned; in half an hour or so, +they would recover consciousness with no ill effects that a couple of +headache tablets wouldn't set right.</p> + +<p>The situation, while bad, was not immediately desperate. If the +white-clad raiders controlled the top landing stage, they were pinned +down by the firearms and sono guns of the defenders, below, who were +in a position to stop anything that came down the escalators or the +lift shaft. The fate of the first party was proof of that. And the +very magnitude of the riot guaranteed that somebody on the outside, +city police, State guards, or even Consolidated States regulars, would +be taking a hand shortly. The air attack and 'copter-landing on the +roof had been excellent tactics, but it had been a serious +policy-blunder. As long as the disturbance had been confined to the +interior of the store, the city police could shrug it off as another +minor riot on property supposed to be protected by private police, and +do nothing about it. The rocket-attack on the top landing stage and +the spectacular explosion of the fireworks temporarily stored there, +however, was something that simply couldn't be concealed or dismissed. +The cloud of varicolored smoke alone must have been visible all over +the five original boroughs of the older New York, and there were +probably rumors of atom-bombing going around.</p> + +<p>"What gets me," Slater, who must have been thinking about the same +thing, said to Cardon, "is where they got hold of those two +fighter-bombers. That kind of stuff isn't supposed to be in private +hands."</p> + +<p>"A couple of hundred years ago, they had something they called the +Sullivan Law," Cardon told him. "Private citizens weren't even allowed +to own pistols. But the gangsters and hoodlums seemed to be able to +get hold of all the pistols they wanted, and burp guns, too. I know of +four or five racket gangs in this area that have aircraft like that, +based up in the Adirondacks, at secret fields. Anybody who has +connections with one of those gangs can order an air attack like this +on an hour's notice, if he's able to pay for it. What I can't +understand is the Independent-Conservatives doing anything like this. +The facts about this business will be all over the state before the +polls open tomorrow—" He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Come on; +let's have a look at those fellows who came down on the lift!"</p> + +<p>There were two dead men in white Independent-Conservative robes and +hoods, lying where they had been dragged from the lift platform. +Cardon pulled off the hoods and zipped open the white robes. One of +the men was a complete stranger; the other, however, was a man he had +seen, earlier in the day, at the Manhattan headquarters of the +Radical-Socialist Party. One of the Consolidated Illiterates' +Organization people; a follower of West and Yingling.</p> + +<p>"So that's how it was!" he said, straightening. "Now I get it! Let's +go see if any of those wounded goons are in condition to be +questioned."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ray Pelton and Doug Yetsko had their heads out an open window on the +right side of the cab of the 'copter truck; Ray was pointing down.</p> + +<p>"That roof, over there, looks like a good place to land," he said. "We +can get down the fire escape, and the hatch to the conveyor belt is +only half a block away."</p> + +<p>Yetsko nodded. There'd be a watchman, or a private cop, in the +building on which Ray intended landing. A couple of hundred dollars +would take care of him, and they could leave two of Mason's boys with +the vehicles to see that he stayed bribed.</p> + +<p>"Sure we can get in on the freight conveyor?" he asked. "Maybe it'll +be guarded."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll have to crawl in through the cable conduit," Ray said. +"I've done that, lots of times; so have most of the other guys." He +nodded toward the body of the truck, behind, where his dozen-odd +'teen-age recruits were riding. "I've played all over the store, ever +since I've been big enough to walk; I must know more about it than +anybody but the guy who built it. That's why I said we'd have to bring +bullet guns; down where we're going, we'd gas ourselves with gas guns, +and if we used sono guns, we'd knock ourselves out with the echo."</p> + +<p>"You know, Ray, you'll make a real storm trooper," Yetsko said. "If +you manage to stay alive for another ten years, you'll be almost as +good a storm troop captain as Captain Prestonby."</p> + +<p>That, Ray knew, was about as high praise as Doug Yetsko could give +anybody. He'd have liked to ask Doug more about Captain +Prestonby—Doug could never seem to get used to the idea of his +officer being a schoolteacher—but there was no time. The 'copter +truck was already settling onto the roof.</p> + +<p>The watchman proved amenable to reason. He took one look at Yetsko, +with three feet of weighted fire hose in his hand, and gulped, then +accepted the two C-notes Yetsko gave him. They left a couple of +Literates' guards with the vehicles, and Ray led the way to the fire +escape, and down into the alley. A few hundred feet away, there was an +iron grating which they pulled up. Ray drew the pistol he had gotten +out of Captain Prestonby's arms locker and checked the magazine, +chamber, and safety, knowing that Yetsko and the other guards were +watching him critically, and then started climbing down the ladder.</p> + +<p>The conduit was halfway down. Yetsko, climbing behind him, examined it +with his flashlight, probably wondering how he was going to fit +himself into a hole like that. They climbed down onto the concrete +walkway beside the conveyor belts, and in the dim light of the +overhead lamps Ray could see that the two broad belts, to and from the +store, were empty for as far as he could see in either direction. +Normally, there should be things moving constantly in both +directions—big wire baskets full of parcels for delivery, and trash +containers, going out, and bales and crates and cases of merchandise, +and empty delivery baskets and trash containers coming in. He pointed +this out to Yetsko.</p> + +<p>"Sure," the big Literates' guards sergeant nodded. "They got control +of the opening from the terminal, and they probably got a gang up at +the other end, too," he shouted, over the noise of the conveyor belts. +"I hope they haven't got into the basement of the store."</p> + +<p>"If they have, I know a way to get in," Ray told him. "You'd better +stay here for about five minutes, and let me scout ahead. We don't +want to run into a big gang of them ahead."</p> + +<p>Yetsko shook his head. "No, Ray; the captain told me I was to stick +with you. I'll go along with you. And we better take another of these +kids, for a runner, in case we have to send word back."</p> + +<p>"Ramon, you come with us," Ray said. "The rest of you, stay here for +five minutes, and then, if you don't hear from us, follow us."</p> + +<p>"Mason, you take over," Yetsko told the guards corporal. "And keep an +eye out behind you. We're in a sandwich, here; they're behind us, and +in front of us. If anything comes at you from behind, send the kids +forward to the next conduit port."</p> + +<p>Ray and Yetsko and Ramon Nogales started forward. Halfway to the next +conduit port, there was a smear of lubricating oil on the concrete, +and in it, and away from it in the direction of the store, they found +footprints. It was Ramon Nogales who noticed the oil on the ladder to +the next conduit port.</p> + +<p>"You stick here," Yetsko told him, "and when Mason and the others come +up, hold them here. Tell Mason to send one of the guards forward, and +use the rest of the gang to grab anybody who comes out. Come on, Ray."</p> + +<p>At the port beyond, they halted, waiting for Mason's man to come up. +They lost some time, thereafter, but they learned that the section of +conduit between the two ports was empty and that the main telephone +line to the store had been cut. Whoever had cut it had gone, either +forward or back away from the store. A little farther on, the sound of +shots ahead became audible over the clanking and rattling of the +conveyor belts.</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess this is where we start crawling," Yetsko said. "Your +father's people seem to be holding the store basement against a gang +in the conveyor tunnel."</p> + +<p>One of the boys scouted ahead, and returned to report that they could +reach the next conduit port, but that the section of both conveyor +belts ahead of him was stopped, apparently wedged.</p> + +<p>Yetsko stood for a moment, grimacing in an effort to reach a decision.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to just go forward and hit them from behind," he said. "But +I don't know how many of them there are, and we'd have to be careful, +shooting into them, that we didn't shoot up your father's gang, beyond +them. I wish—"</p> + +<p>"Well, let's go through the conduit, then," Ray said. "We can slide +down a branch conduit that runs a power line into the basement. I'll +go ahead; everybody at the store knows me, and they don't know you. +They might shoot you before they found out you were a friend."</p> + +<p>Before Yetsko could object, he started up the ladder, Yetsko behind +him and the others following. At the next conduit port, they could +hear shooting very plainly, seeming to be in front of them. At the +next one, the shooting seemed to be going on directly under them, in +the tunnel. With the flashlight Yetsko had passed forward to him, Ray +could see that the dust on the concrete floor of the three-foot by +three-foot passage between and under the power and telephone cables +was undisturbed.</p> + +<p>A little farther on, there was an opening on the left, and a power +cable branched off downward, at a sharp angle, overhead. Ray was able +to turn about and get his feet in front of him; Yetsko had to crawl on +until he had passed it, and then back into it after Ray had entered. +Bracing one foot on either side, Ray inched his way down the +forty-degree slope, hoping that the two hundred pound weight of Doug +Yetsko wouldn't start sliding upon him.</p> + +<p>Ahead, he could hear voices. He drew his hands and feet away from the +sides of the branch conduit and let himself slip, landing in a heap in +the electricians' shop, above the furnace rooms. Two men, who had been +working at a bench, trying to assemble a mass of equipment into a +radio, whirled, snatching weapons. Ray knew both of them—Sam +Jacobowitz and George Nyman, who serviced the store's communications +equipment. They both stared at him, swearing in amazement.</p> + +<p>"All right, Doug!" Ray called out. "We're in! Bring the gang down!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank Cardon and Ralph Prestonby were waiting at the freight-elevator +door when it opened and Russell Latterman emerged, a rifle slung over +one shoulder. Cardon stepped forward and took the rifle from him.</p> + +<p>"Come on over here, Russ," he said. "And don't do anything reckless."</p> + +<p>They led him to one side. Latterman looked from one to the other +apprehensively, licking his lips.</p> + +<p>"It's all right; we're not going to hurt you, Russ," Cardon assured +him. "We just want a few facts. Beside rigging that business with +Bayne, and almost killing Chet Pelton, and forcing Claire to blow her +cover, how much did you have to do with this business?"</p> + +<p>"And who put you up to it?" Prestonby wanted to know. "My guess is +Joyner and Graves. Am I right?"</p> + +<p>"Graves," Latterman said. "Joyner didn't have anything to do with it; +didn't know anything about it. He's in charge of the Retail +Merchandising section, and any action like this would be unethical, +since Pelton's is a client of the Retail Merchandising section. All +Graves told me to do was fix up a situation, using my own judgment, +that would provoke a Literate strike and force either Claire or Frank +here to betray Literacy. But I had no idea that it would involve a +riot like this. If I had, I'd have stood on Literates' ethics and +refused to have any part in it."</p> + +<p>"That's about how I thought it would be," Cardon nodded. "Graves +probably was informed by Literates with the Independent-Conservatives +that this riot was planned; he wanted to get our people out of the +store. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't present at the extemporary +meeting that reversed Bayne's action in calling the strike." He handed +the rifle back to Latterman. "I just took this in case you might get +excited, before I could explain. And you can forget about the +Graves-Joyner opposition to Pelton. We had a meeting, right after +noon. Lancedale gained the upper hand; Joyner and Graves are +co-operating, now; the plan is to support Pelton and get on the inside +of the socialized Literacy program, when it's enacted."</p> + +<p>"I still think that's a suicidal policy," Latterman said. "But not as +suicidal as splitting the Fraternities and trying to follow two +policies simultaneously. I wonder if I could put a call through to +Literates' Hall without some of these picture-readers overhearing me."</p> + +<p>"You've been out of touch, down in the cellar, Russ." Prestonby told +him. "Our telephone line's cut, and the radio is smashed." He told +Latterman about the rocket attack on the control tower, which also +housed the store's telecast station. "So we're sandwiched, here; one +gang has us blocked at the twelfth floor, and another gang's up on the +roof, trying to get down at us from above, and we've no way to +communicate with the outside. We can pick up the regular telecasts, +but nobody outside seems to be paying much attention to us."</p> + +<p>"There's a lot of equipment down in the electricians' shop," Latterman +said. "Maybe we could rig up a sending set that could contact one of +the telecast stations outside."</p> + +<p>"That's an idea," Prestonby said. "Let's see what we can do about it."</p> + +<p>They went into Pelton's office. The store owner was still lying +motionless on his stretcher. Claire was fiddling with a telecast +receiving set; she had just tuned out a lecture on Home +Beautifications and had gotten the mid-section of a serial in which +three couples were somewhat confused over just who was married to +whom.</p> + +<p>"Nobody seems to realize what's happening to us!" she said, turning +the knob again. Then she froze, as Elliot C. Mongery—this time +sponsored by Parc, the Miracle Cleanser—appeared on the screen.</p> + +<p>"... And it seems that the attack on Chester Pelton has picked up new +complications; somebody seems determined to wipe out the whole Pelton +family, because, only ten minutes ago, some twenty armed men invaded +the Mineola High School, where Pelton's fifteen-year-old son, Raymond, +is a student, and forced their way to the office of Literate First +Class Ralph N. Prestonby, in an attempt to kidnap young Pelton. +Neither Literate Prestonby, the principal, nor the Pelton boy, who was +supposed to be in his office, could be found. The raiders were put to +flight by the presence of mind of Literate Martha B. Collins, who +pressed the button which turned in the fire alarm, filling the halls +with a mob of students. The interlopers fled in panic after being set +upon and almost mobbed—"</p> + +<p>Prestonby looked worried. "I left Ray in my office, with Doug Yetsko," +he said. "I can't understand—"</p> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_153.jpg" alt="" width="600" height="532" /></p> + +<p>"Maybe Yetsko got a tip that they were coming and got Ray out of the +school," Cardon suggested. "I hope he took him home." He caught +himself just in time to avoid mentioning the platoon of Literates' +guards at the Pelton home, which he was not supposed to know about. +"Don't worry, Claire; if anything'd happened to Ray, Mongery'd have +been screaming about it to high heaven. That's what he's paid to do."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll stake my life on it; if anybody tried to do anything to +Ray while Yetsko was with him, you'd have heard about it," Prestonby +said. "It'd have been a bigger battle than this one."</p> + +<p>"... Can't seem to find out anything about what's going on at +Pelton's store," Mongery continued. "Telephone and radio communication +seems to be broken, and, although there is continuous firing going on +inside the building, the city police, who have a cordon completely +around it, say that the situation in the store is well in hand. +Considering Chester Pelton's attacks on the city administration and +particularly the police department, I leave to your imagination what +they mean by that. We do know that a large body of unidentified +plug-uglies whom Police Inspector Cassidy claims are 'special +officers' are holding the conveyor line into the store at the downtown +Manhattan terminal, and nobody seems to know what's going on at the +other end—"</p> + +<p>"They have the sections of both belts at the store entrance end +wedged," Latterman said, coming up at the moment. "Coccozello has a +barricade thrown up across the store end of the tunnel, and they have +a barricade about fifty yards down the tunnel. That's where I was +fighting when you called me up."</p> + +<p>"Anything being done about gold-berging up a radio sending-set?" +Prestonby asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I just called Coccozello," Latterman said. "Fortunately, the +inter-department telephone is still working. He's put a couple of men +to work, and thinks he may have a set in operation in about half an +hour."</p> + +<p>"... And if, as I much fear, Chester Pelton has been murdered, then I +advise all listening to me to go to the polls tomorrow and vote the +straight Anarchist ticket. If we've got to have anarchy in this +country, let's have anarchy for all, and not just for Grant Hamilton +and his political adherents!" Mongery was saying.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was a series of heavy explosions on the floor above. Everybody +grabbed weapons and hurried outside, crowding onto the escalators. The +floor above was a shambles, with bodies lying about, and the +descending escalator was packed with white-robed attackers, who had +apparently prepared for their charge by tossing down a number of +heavy fragmentation bombs. Cardon had a burp gun, this time; he +emptied the fifty-shot magazine into the hooded hoodlums who were +coming down. Prestonby, beside him, had a heavy sono gun; he kept it +trained on the head of the escalator and held the trigger back until +it was empty, then slapped in a fresh clip of the small blank +cartridges which produced the sound waves that were amplified and +altered to stunning vibrations. Still, many of the attackers got +through. More were dropping down the lift-platform shaft. Cardon's +submachine-gun ceased firing, the action open on an empty clip. He +dropped it and yanked the heavy pistol from his shoulder holster. +Then, from the direction of the freight elevator, reinforcements +arrived, headed by a huge man in the black leather of the Literates' +guard, who swung a three-foot length of fire hose with his right hand +and fired a pistol with his left, and a boy in a black-and-red jacket +who was letting off a burp gun in deliberate, parsimonious, bursts. It +was a second or two before Cardon recognized them as Prestonby's +bodyguard, Doug Yetsko, and Claire Pelton's brother Ray. There were +four Literates' guards and about a dozen boys with them, all firing +with a variety of weapons.</p> + +<p>At the same time, others were arriving on the escalators from the +floors below, firing as they came off—Slater's Literates' guards, the +Literates and their black-jacketed troopers of Hopkinson's store +service crew, the fifteen survivors of the twenty riflemen from Macy & +Gimbel's. The attackers turned and crowded onto the ascending +escalator. Most of them got away, the casualties being carried up by +the escalator. Doug Yetsko bounded forward and brought his fire hose +down on the back of one invader's neck. Then, after a last spatter of +upward-aimed shots from the defenders, there was silence.</p> + +<p>Cardon stepped forward and yanked the hood from the man whom Yetsko +had knocked down, hoping that he had a stunned prisoner who could be +interrogated. The man was dead, however, with a broken neck. For a +moment, Cardon looked down at the heavy, brutal features of Joe West, +the Illiterates' Organization man. If Chester Pelton got out of this +mess alive and won the election tomorrow, there was going to have to +be a purge in the Radical-Socialist party, and something was going to +have to be done about the Consolidated Organization of Illiterates. He +turned to Yetsko.</p> + +<p>"You and your gang got here just in the nick of time," he said. "How +did you get into the store?"</p> + +<p>"Through the freight conveyor, into the basement."</p> + +<p>"But I thought those goons had both ends of that plugged."</p> + +<p>"They did," Yetsko grinned. "But Ray Pelton took us in at the middle, +and we crawled through a cable conduit to get around the gang at this +end."</p> + +<p>Cardon looked around quickly, in search of Ray. The boy, having come +out of the excitement of battle, was looking around at the litter of +dead and wounded on the blood-splashed floor. His eyes widened, and he +gulped. Then, carefully setting the safety of his burp gun and +slinging it, he went over and leaned against the wall, and was sick.</p> + +<p>Prestonby, with Claire Pelton beside him, started toward the +white-faced, retching boy. Yetsko put out a hamlike hand to stop them.</p> + +<p>"If the kid wants to be sick, let him be sick," he said. "He's got a +right to. I was sicker'n that, after my first fight. But he won't do +that the next time."</p> + +<p>"There isn't going to be any next time!" Claire declared, with +maternal protectiveness.</p> + +<p>"That's what you think, Miss Claire," Yetsko told her. "That boy's +gonna make a great storm trooper," he declared. "Every bit as great as +Captain Prestonby, here."</p> + +<p>Claire looked up at Prestonby almost worshipfully. "And I never knew +anything about your being a fighting-man, till today," she said. +"Ralph, there's so much about you that I don't know."</p> + +<p>"There'll be plenty of time to find out, now, honey," he told her.</p> + +<p>Cardon stepped over the body of Joe West and went up to them.</p> + +<p>"Sorry to intrude on you two," he said, "but we've got to figure on +how to get out of here. Could we get out the same way you got in?" he +asked Yetsko. "And take Mr. Pelton with us?"</p> + +<p>Yetsko frowned. "Part of the way, we gotta crawl through this conduit; +it's only about a yard square. And we'd have to go up a ladder, and +out a manhole, to get out of the conveyor tunnel. What sorta shape's +Mr. Pelton in?"</p> + +<p>"He's under hypnotaine, completely unconscious," Prestonby said.</p> + +<p>"Then we'd have to drag him," Yetsko said. "Strap him up in a tarp, or +load him into a sleeping bag, if we can get hold of one."</p> + +<p>"There are plenty, down in the warehouse," Latterman interrupted, +joining them. "And the warehouse is in our hands."</p> + +<p>"All right," Cardon decided. "We'll take him out, now, and take him +home. I have some men there who'll take care of him. We'll have to get +you and Ray out, too," he told Claire. "I think we'll take both of you +to Literates' Hall; you'll be absolutely safe there."</p> + +<p>"But the store," Claire started to object. "And all these people who +came here to help us—"</p> + +<p>"As soon as I have your father home, I'm going to start rounding up a +gang to raise the siege," Cardon said. "Radical-Socialist storm +troops, and—" He grinned suddenly. "The insurance company; the one +that has the store insured against riot! Why didn't I think of them +before? They're losing money every second this thing goes on. It'll be +worth their while to start doing something to stop it!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The trip out through the conduit was not so difficult, even with the +encumbrance of the unconscious Chester Pelton, but Prestonby was +convinced that, except for the giant strength of Doug Yetsko, it would +have been nearly impossible. Ray Pelton, recovered from his +after-battle nausea and steeled by responsibility, went first. Cardon +crawled after him, followed by a couple of the boys. Then came Yetsko, +dragging the sleeping bag in which Chester Pelton was packed like a +mummy. Prestonby himself followed, pushing on his future +father-in-law's feet, and Claire crawled behind, with the rest of +Ray's schoolmates for a rearguard.</p> + +<p>They got past the battle which was still going on at the entrance to +the store basement, letting Pelton down with a rope and carrying him +onto the outward-bound belt. They left it in time to assemble under +the ladder leading to the alley through which Ray said they had +entered, and hauled Pelton up after them. Then, when they were all out +in the open again, Ray ran up the alley and mounted a fire escape, +and, in a few minutes, a big 'copter truck which had been parked on +the roof let down to them. Into this, Cardon ordered the unconscious +senatorial candidate loaded, and the boys who had come with Ray.</p> + +<p>"I'll take him home, and then run the boys to the school," he told +Prestonby. "You and Ray and Claire get in this other 'copter and go +straight to Literates' Hall." He pointed up to the passenger vehicle +which was hovering above, waiting for the truck to leave. "Go in the +church way, and go straight to Lancedale's office. And here." He +scribbled an address and a phone number and a couple of names. "These +men have my 'copter at this address. Call them as soon as you get to +Literates' Hall and have them take it at once to Pelton's home, on +Long Island."</p> + +<p>Prestonby nodded and watched Cardon climb into the truck. The +Literates' guard who was driving lifted it up and began windmilling +away toward the east. The passenger 'copter, driven by another guard +from the school, settled down. Putting Ray and Claire into it, he +climbed in after them.</p> + +<p>"Ray," he said, "how would you like to be a real white-smock +Literate?"</p> + +<p>Ray's eyes opened. "You think I'm good enough?"</p> + +<p>"Good enough to be a novice, to start with. And I don't think you'll +stay a novice long."</p> + +<p>Claire looked at him inquiringly, saying nothing.</p> + +<p>"You, too, honey," he said. "Frank fixed it all up. You and Ray will +be admitted to the Fraternities, this afternoon. And that will remove +any objection to our being married."</p> + +<p>"But ... how about the Senator?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Prestonby shrugged. "It's all over the state now that you can read; +there's nothing that you can do about it. And Frank has a lot of +influence with him; he'll talk him around to where he'll be willing to +make the best of it, in a week or so."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Russell Latterman noticed that Major Slater was looking at him in a +respectfully inquiring manner. He said nothing, and, at length, the +Literates' guards officer broke the silence.</p> + +<p>"You didn't go out with the others."</p> + +<p>Latterman shook his head. "No, major; I'm an executive of Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise, however unlike its name it may look at the +moment. My job's here. I'm afraid I'll have to lean pretty heavily on +you, until Mr. Cardon can get help to us. I'm not particularly used to +combat."</p> + +<p>"You've been doing all right with that rifle," Slater told him.</p> + +<p>"I can hit what I aim at, yes. But I'm not used to commanding men in +combat, and I'm not much of a tactician."</p> + +<p>Slater thrust out his hand impulsively. "I took a sort of poor view +of you, at first. I'm sorry," he said. "Want me to take command?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, major."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do, after this thing's over?" Slater asked.</p> + +<p>"Stay on with Pelton's, provided Mr. P. doesn't find out that I +organized that trick with his medicine and the safe," Latterman said. +"Since Lancedale seems to have gotten on top at the Hall, I am, as of +now, a Lancedale partisan. That's partly opportunism, and it's partly +because, since a single policy has been adopted, I feel obliged to go +along with it. I'll have to get the store back in operation, as soon +as possible. Pelton's going to need money, badly, if he's going to try +for the presidency in '44." He looked around him. "You know, I've +always wanted to run a fire sale; this'll be even better—a battle +sale!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Cardon watched Chester Pelton apprehensively as the bald-headed +merchant and senatorial candidate sipped from the tall glass in his +hand and then set it on the table beside him. His face was pale, and +he had the look of a man who has just been hit with a blackjack.</p> + +<p>"That's an awful load of bricks to dump on a man, all at once, +Frank," he said reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"You'd rather I told you, now, than turn on the TV and hear some +commentator talking about it, wouldn't you?" Cardon asked.</p> + +<p>Pelton swore vilely, in a lifeless monotone, cursing Literacy, and +all Literates back to the invention of the alphabet. Then he stopped +short.</p> + +<p>"No, Frank, I don't mean that, either. My own son and daughter are +Literates; I can't say that about them. But how long—?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, for about a year, I'd say. I understand, now, that they were +admitted to the Fraternities six months ago," he invented.</p> + +<p>"And they were working against me, all that time?" Pelton demanded.</p> + +<p>Cardon shook his head. "No, Chet; they were for you, all the way. Your +daughter exposed her Literacy to save your life. Your son and his +teacher came to your store and fought for you. But there are Literates +who want to see you defeated, and they're the ones who made that +audio-visual, secretly, of the ceremony in which your son and daughter +took the Literates' Oath and received the white smock, and they're +going to telecast it this evening at twenty-one hundred. Coming on top +of the stories that have been going around all afternoon, and Slade +Gardner's speech, this morning, they think that'll be enough to defeat +you."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't you?" Pelton gloomed. "My own kids, Literates!" He seemed +to have reached a point at which he was actually getting a masochistic +pleasure out of turning the dagger in his wounds. "Who'd trust me, +after this?"</p> + +<p>"No, Chet; it isn't enough to beat you—if you just throw away that +crying towel and start fighting. They made one mistake that's going +to wreck them."</p> + +<p>"What's that, Frank?" Pelton brightened, by about one angstrom unit.</p> + +<p>"The timing, of course!" Cardon told him, impatiently. "I thought +you'd see that, at once. This telecast comes on at twenty-one hundred. +Your final speech comes on at twenty-one thirty. As soon as they've +shown this business of Claire and Ray taking the Literate Oath, you'll +be on the air, yourself, and if you put on any kind of a show worth +the name, it won't be safe for anybody in this state to be caught +wearing a white smock. Now, if they'd only had the wit to wait till +after you'd delivered that speech you've been practicing on for the +last two weeks, and then spring this on you, that would have been +different. They'd have had you over a barrel. But this way, you have +them!"</p> + +<p>Pelton took another gulp from the tall glass at his elbow, emptying +it. "Fix me up another of these, Frank," he said. "I feel like a new +man, already." Then his face clouded again. "But we have no time to +prepare a speech, now, and I just can't ad lib one."</p> + +<p>Cardon drew a little half-inch record-disk from his pocket case.</p> + +<p>"Play this off," he said. "I had it fixed up, as soon as I got wise to +what was going to happen. The voice is one of the girls in my office, +over at the brewery. Pronunciation, grammar, elocution and everything +correct."</p> + +<p>Pelton snapped the disk onto his recorder and put in the ear plug. +Then, before he pressed the stud, he looked at Cardon curiously.</p> + +<p>"How'd you get onto this, anyhow, Frank?" he wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Well ... I hope you don't ask me for an accounting of all the money +I've been spending in this campaign, because some of the items would +look funny as hell, but—"</p> + +<p>"No accounting, Frank. After all, you spent as much of your own money +as you did of mine," Pelton interrupted.</p> + +<p>"... But I bought myself a pipe line into Literates' Hall big enough +to chase an elephant through," Cardon went on, ignoring the +interruption. "This fellow Mongery, for instance." Elliot Mongery was +one of Literate Frank Cardon's best friends; he comforted his +conscience with the knowledge that Mongery would slander him just as +unscrupulously, if the interests of the Lancedale Plan were at stake. +"I have Mongery just like this." He made a clutching and lifting +gesture, as though he were picking up some small animal by the scruff +of the neck. "So, as soon as I got word of it, I started getting this +thing together. It isn't the kind of a job a Literate semanticist +would do, but it's all honest Illiterate thinking, in Illiterate +language. Turn it on, and tell me what you think of it."</p> + +<p>While Pelton listened to the record, Cardon mixed him another of the +highballs, adding a little of the heart-stimulant the medic had given +him. Pelton was grinning savagely when he turned off the little +machine and took out the ear plug.</p> + +<p>"Great stuff, Frank! And I won't have to ham it much; it's just about +the way I feel." He thought for a moment. "You have me talking about +my ruined store, there. Just how bad is it, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty bad, Chet. Latterman says it's going to take some time to get +it fixed up, but he expects to be open for business by Thursday or +Friday. He's going to put on a big Battle Sale; he says it's going to +make retail-merchandising history. And the insurance covers most of +the damage."</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me about it. How did you get the riot stopped, after you +got me out? And how did you—?"</p> + +<p>Cardon shook his head. "You play that record over again; get yourself +in the mood. When you go on, we'll have you in a chair, wrapped in a +blanket ... you're supposed to have crawled back out of the Valley of +the Shadow of Death to make this speech ... and we'll have the wire +run down inside the blanket, so that you can listen to the speech +while you're giving it. Chet, this is going to be one of the great +political speeches of all time—"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Literate William R. Lancedale looked up from his desk and greeted his +visitor with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Well, Frank! Sit down and accept congratulations! I suppose you got +the returns?"</p> + +<p>Cardon nodded, dropping into a chair beside the desk. "Just came from +campaign headquarters. This automatic tally system they use on the +voting machines is really something. Complete returns tabulated and +reported for the whole state within forty minutes after the polls +closed. I won't be silly enough to ask you if you got the returns."</p> + +<p>"I deserved that, of course," Lancedale chuckled. "Can I offer you +refreshment? A nice big stein of Cardon's Black Bottle, for instance?"</p> + +<p>Cardon shuddered and grimaced horribly. "I've been drinking that slop +by the bucketful, all day. And Pelton's throwing a victory party, +tonight, and I'll have to choke down another half gallon of it. Give +me a cup of coffee, and one of those good cigars of yours."</p> + +<p>Lancedale grinned at him. "Ah, yes, the jolly brewer. His own best +advertisement. How's Pelton reacting to his triumph? And what's his +attitude toward his children? I've been worrying about that; vestigial +traces of a conscience, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Well, I had to keep him steamed up, till after he went off the air," +Cardon said. "Chet isn't a very good actor. But after that, I talked +to him like a Dutch uncle. Told him what a swell pair of kids and a +fine son-in-law he had. He got sore at me. Tried to throw me out of +the house, a couple of times. I was afraid he was going to have +another of those attacks. But by the time Ralph and Claire get back +from their honeymoon and Ray finishes that cram-course for Literate +prep school, he'll be ready to confer the paternal blessing all +around. I'm going to stay in town and make sure of it, and then I'm +taking about a month's vacation."</p> + +<p>"You've earned it, all right." Lancedale poured Cardon's coffee and +passed him the cigar humidor. "How's Pelton's attitude toward the +Consolidated Illiterates' Organization, now?"</p> + +<p>Cardon, having picked up the Italian stiletto to puncture his cigar, +looked at it carefully to make sure that it really had no edge, and +then drew it quickly across his throat.</p> + +<p>"Just like that. You know what really happened, yesterday afternoon, +at the store, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, in general, yes. I wish you'd fill me in on some of the +details, though, Frank."</p> + +<p>"Details he wants. Well." Cardon blew on his coffee and sipped it. +"The way we played it for propaganda purposes, of course, there was +only one big riot, and it was all the work of the wicked Literates and +their Independent-Conservative hirelings. Actually, there were two +riots. First, there was one the Independents had planned for about a +week in advance; that was the one Sforza tipped us on, the one that +started in China. Graves knew about it, enough to advise Latterman to +get all the Literates out of the store before noon, which Latterman +did, with trimmings.</p> + +<p>"Then, there was another riot, masterminded by a couple of +Illiterates' Organization Action Committee people named Joe West and +Horace Yingling, both deceased. That was the result of Latterman's +bright idea to trap Claire and/or me into betraying Literacy. These +Illiterate fanatics made up their minds, to speak rather loosely, that +the whole Pelton family were Literates, including Chet himself. They +decided that it was better to kill off their candidate and use him for +a martyr two years from now than to elect him and have him sell them +out. They got about a hundred or so of their goons dressed in +Independent-Conservative KKK costumes, bought air support from Patsy +Callazo's mob, up in Vermont, and made that attack on the top landing +stage, after starting a fake riot in North Jersey, to draw off the +regular Radical-Socialist storm troops. Incidentally, when I found out +it was Callazo's gang that furnished those fighter bombers, I hired +another mob to go up and drop a block-buster on Callazo's field, to +teach him to keep his schnozzle out of politics."</p> + +<p>Lancedale nodded briskly. "That I approve of. How about West and +Yingling?"</p> + +<p>"Prestonby's muscle man, Yetsko, killed West. I took care of Comrade +Yingling, myself, after I'd gotten reinforcements to the store—first +a couple of free-lance storm troops that the insurance company hired, +and then as many of the Radical Rangers as I could gather up."</p> + +<p>"And Pelton knows about all this?"</p> + +<p>"He certainly does! After this caper, the Illiterates' Organization's +through, as far as any consideration or patronage from the Radicals is +concerned."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's pretty nearly the best thing I've heard out of the whole +business," Lancedale said. "In about eight or ten years, we may want +to pull the Independent-Conservative party together again, to cash in +on public dissatisfaction with Pelton's socialized Literacy program, +which ought to be coming apart at the seams by then. And if we have +the Illiterates split into two hostile factions—"</p> + +<p>Cardon finished his coffee. "Well, chief, I've got to be getting +along. O'Reilly can only cover me for a short while, and I have to be +getting to this victory party of Pelton's—"</p> + +<p>Lancedale rose and shook hands with him. "I can't tell you, too many +times, what a fine job you did, Frank," he said. "I hope ... no, +knowing you, I'm positive ... that you'll be able to engineer a +reconciliation between Pelton and his son and daughter and young +Prestonby. And then, have yourself a good vacation."</p> + +<p>"I mean to. I'm going deer hunting, to a place up in the mountains, +along the old Pennsylvania-New York state line. A little community of +about a thousand people, where everybody, men, women and children, can +read."</p> + +<p>Lancedale was interested. "A community of Literates?"</p> + +<p>Cardon shook his head. "Not Literates-with-a-big-L; just people who +can read and write," he replied. "It's a kind of back-eddy sort of +place, and I imagine, a couple of hundred years ago, the community was +too poor to support one of these 'progressive' school systems that +made Illiterates out of the people in the cities. Probably couldn't +raise enough money in school taxes to buy all the expensive +audio-visual equipment, so they had to use old-fashioned textbooks, +and teach the children to read from them. They have radios, and TV, of +course, but they also have a little daily paper, and they have a +community library."</p> + +<p>Lancedale was thoughtful, for a moment. "You know, Frank, there must +be quite a few little enclaves of lower-case-literacy like that, in +back-woods and mountain communities, especially in the west and the +south. I'm going to make a project of finding such communities, +helping them, and getting recruits from them. They'll fit into the +Plan. Well, I'll be seeing you some time tomorrow, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>He watched Cardon go out, and then poured a glass of port for himself +and sipped slowly, holding the glass to the light and watching the +ruby glow it cast on the desk top. It had been over thirty years ago, +when he had been old Jules de Chambord's assistant, that the Plan had +been first conceived. De Chambord was dead these twenty years, and he +had taken the old man's place, and they had only made the first step. +Things would move faster, now, but he would still die before the Plan +was completed, and Frank Cardon, whom he had marked as his successor, +would be an old man, and somebody like young Ray Pelton would be ready +to replace him, but the Plan would go on, until everybody would be +literate, not Literate, and illiteracy, not Illiteracy, would be a +mark of social stigma, and most people would live their whole lives +without personal acquaintance with an illiterate.</p> + +<p>There were a few years, yet, to prepare for the next step. The white +smocks would have to go; Literates would have to sacrifice their +paltry titles and distinctions. There would have to be a +re-constitution of the Fraternities. Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves +and the other Conservative Literates would have to be convinced, +emotionally as well as intellectually, of the need for change. There +were a few of the older brothers who could never adjust their +thinking; they would have to be promoted to positions with higher +salaries and more impressive titles and no authority whatever.</p> + +<p>But that was all a matter of tactics; the younger men, like Frank +Cardon and Elliot Mongery and Ralph Prestonby, could take care of +that. Certain changes would occur: A stable and peaceful order of +society, for one thing. A rule of law, and the liquidation of these +goon gangs and storm troops and private armies. If a beginning at that +were made tomorrow, using the battle at Pelton's store to mobilize +public opinion, it would still take two decades to get anything really +significant done. And a renaissance of technological and scientific +progress—Today, the manufacturers changed the 'copter models twice a +year—and, except for altering the shape of a few chromium-plated +excrescences or changing the contours slightly, they were the same +'copters that had been buzzing over the country at the time of the +Third World War. Every month, the pharmaceutical companies announced a +new wonder drug—and if it wasn't sulfa, it was penicillin, and if it +wasn't penicillin it would be aureomycin. Why, most of the scientific +research was being carried on by a few Literates in the basements of a +few libraries, re-discovering the science of two centuries ago.</p> + +<p>He sighed, and finished his port, and, as he did probably once every +six months, he re-filled the glass. He'd be seventy-two next birthday. +Maybe he'd live long enough to see—</p> + +<p> </p> +<h3>THE END</h3> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Null-ABC, by +Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuire + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NULL-ABC *** + +***** This file should be named 18346-h.htm or 18346-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/4/18346/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Null-ABC + +Author: Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuire + +Illustrator: van Dongen + +Release Date: May 8, 2006 [EBook #18346] +[Last updated: June 29, 2014] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NULL-ABC *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's note: +This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction, February and +March, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + + NULL-ABC + + + BY H. BEAM PIPER AND JOHN J. McGUIRE + + + + + _There's some reaction these days that + holds scientists responsible for war. Take it one step further: + What happens if "book-learnin'" is held responsible ...?_ + + + Illustrated by van Dongen + + + + +Chester Pelton retracted his paunch as far as the breakfast seat would +permit; the table, its advent preceded by a collection of +mouth-watering aromas, slid noiselessly out of the pantry and clicked +into place in front of him. + +"Everything all right, Miss Claire?" a voice floated out after it from +beyond. "Anything else you want?" + +"Everything's just fine, Mrs. Harris," Claire replied. "I suppose Mr. +Pelton'll want seconds, and Ray'll probably want thirds and fourths of +everything." She waved a hand over the photocell that closed the +pantry door, and slid into place across from her brother, who already +had a glass of fruit juice in one hand and was lifting platter covers +with the other. + +"Real eggs!" the boy was announcing. "Bacon. Wheat-bread toast." He +looked again. "Hey, Sis, is this real cow-made butter?" + +"Yes. Now go ahead and eat." + +As though Ray needed encouragement, Chester Pelton thought, watching +his son use a spoon--the biggest one available--to dump gobs of honey +on his toast. While he was helping himself to bacon and eggs, he could +hear Ray's full-mouthed exclamation: "This is real bee-comb honey, +too!" That pleased him. The boy was a true Pelton; only needed one +bite to distinguish between real and synthetic food. + +"Bet this breakfast didn't cost a dollar under five C," Ray continued, +a little more audibly, between bites. + +[Illustration:] + +That was another Pelton trait; even at fifteen, the boy was learning +the value of money. Claire seemed to disapprove, however. + +"Oh, Ray; try not to always think of what things cost," she reproved. + +"If I had all she spends on natural food, I could have a this-season's +model 'copter-bike, like Jimmy Hartnett," Ray continued. + +Pelton frowned. "I don't want you running around with that boy, Ray," +he said, his mouth full of bacon and eggs. Under his daughter's look +of disapproval, he swallowed hastily, then continued: "He's not the +sort of company I want my son keeping." + +"But, Senator," Ray protested. "He lives next door to us. Why, we can +see Hartnett's aerial from the top of our landing stage!" + +"That doesn't matter," he said, in a tone meant to indicate that the +subject was not to be debated. "He's a Literate!" + +"More eggs, Senator?" Claire asked, extending the platter and +gesturing with the serving knife. + +He chuckled inwardly. Claire always knew what to do when his temper +started climbing to critical mass. He allowed her to load his plate +again. + +"And speaking of our landing stage, have you been up there, this +morning, Ray?" he asked. + +They both looked at him inquiringly. + +"Delivered last evening, while you two were out," he explained. "New +winter model Rolls-Cadipac." He felt a glow of paternal pleasure as +Claire gave a yelp of delight and aimed a glancing kiss at the top of +his bald head. Ray dropped his fork, slid from his seat, and bolted +for the lift, even bacon, eggs, and real bee-comb honey forgotten. + +With elaborate absent-mindedness, Chester Pelton reached for the +switch to turn on the video screen over the pantry door. + +"Oh-oh! Oh-oh!" Claire's slender hand went out to stop his own. "Not +till coffee and cigarettes, Senator." + +"It's almost oh-eight-fifteen; I want the newscast." + +"Can't you just relax for a while? Honestly, Senator, you're killing +yourself." + +"Oh, rubbish! I've been working a little hard, but--" + +"You've been working too hard. And today, with the sale at the store, +and the last day of the campaign--" + +"Why the devil did that idiot of a Latterman have the sale advertised +for today, anyhow?" he fumed. "Doesn't he know I'm running for the +Senate?" + +"I doubt it," Claire said. "He may have heard of it, the way you've +heard about an election in Pakistan or Abyssinia, or he just may not +know there is such a thing as politics. I think he does know there's a +world outside the store, but he doesn't care much what goes on in it." +She pushed her plate aside, poured a cup of coffee, and levered a +cigarette from the Readilit, puffing at it with the relish of the +morning's first smoke. "All he knows is that we're holding our sale +three days ahead of Macy & Gimbel's." + +"Russ is a good businessman," Pelton said seriously. "I wish you'd +take a little more interest in him, Claire." + +"If you mean what I think you do, no thanks," Claire replied. "I +suppose I'll get married, some day--most girls do--but it'll be to +somebody who can hang his business up at the office before he comes +home. Russ Latterman is so married to the store that if he married me +too, it'd be bigamy. Ready for your coffee?" Without waiting for an +answer, she filled his cup and ejected a lighted cigarette from the +box for him, then snapped on the video screen. + +It lit at once, and a nondescriptly handsome young man was grinning +toothily out of it. He wore a white smock, halfway to his knees, and, +over it, an old-fashioned Sam Browne belt which supported a bulky +leather-covered tablet and a large stylus. On the strap which crossed +his breast five or six little metal badges twinkled. + +"... Why no other beer can compare with delicious, tangy, Cardon's +Black Bottle. Won't you try it?" he pleaded. "Then you will see for +yourself why millions of happy drinkers always Call For Cardon's. And +now, that other favorite of millions, Literate First Class Elliot C. +Mongery." + +Pelton muttered: "Why Frank sponsors that blabbermouth of a Mongery--" + +Ray, sliding back onto the bench, returned to his food. + +"Jimmy's book had pictures," he complained, forking up another mixture +of eggs, bacon, toast and honey. + +"Book?" Claire echoed. "Oh, the instructions for the 'copter?" + +"Pipe down, both of you!" Pelton commanded. "The newscast--" + +Literate First Class Elliot C. Mongery, revealed by a quick left +quarter-turn of the pickup camera, wore the same starchy white smock, +the same Sam Browne belt glittering with the badges of the +organizations and corporations for whom he was authorized to practice +Literacy. The tablet on his belt, Pelton knew, was really a +camouflaged holster for a small automatic, and the gold stylus was a +gas-projector. The black-leather-jacketed bodyguards, of course, were +discreetly out of range of the camera. Members of the Associated +Fraternities of Literates weren't exactly loved by the non-reading +public they claimed to serve. The sight of one of those starchy, +perpetually-spotless, white smocks always affected Pelton like a red +cape to a bull. He snorted in disdain. The raised eyebrow toward the +announcer on the left, the quick, perennially boyish smile, followed +by the levelly serious gaze into the camera--the whole act might have +been a film-transcription of Mongery's first appearance on the video, +fifteen years ago. At least, it was off the same ear of corn. + +"That big hunk of cheese," Ray commented. For once, Pelton didn't +shush him; that was too close to his own attitude, at least in +family-breakfast-table terminology. + +"... First of all; for the country, and especially the Newer New York +area, and by the way, it looks as though somebody thought somebody +needed a little cooling off, but we'll come to that later. Here's the +forecast: Today and tomorrow, the weather will continue fine; warm in +the sun, chilly in the shadows. There won't be anything to keep you +from the polls, tomorrow, except bird-hunting, or a last chance at a +game of golf. This is the first time within this commentator's memory +that the weather has definitely been in favor of the party out of +power. + +"On the world scene: You'll be glad to hear that the survivors of the +wrecked strato-rocket have all been rescued from the top of Mount +Everest, after a difficult and heroic effort by the Royal Nepalese Air +Force.... The results of last week's election in Russia are being +challenged by twelve of the fourteen parties represented on the +ballot; the only parties not hurling accusations of fraud are the +Democrats, who won, and the Christian Communists, who are about as +influential in Russian politics as the Vegetarian-Anti-Vaccination +Party is here.... The Central Diplomatic Council of the Reunited +Nations has just announced, for the hundred and seventy-eighth time, +that the Arab-Israel dispute has been finally, definitely and +satisfactorily settled. This morning's reports from Baghdad and Tel +Aviv only list four Arabs and six Israelis killed in border clashes in +the past twenty-four hours, so maybe they're really getting things +patched up, after all. During the same period, there were more +fatalities in Newer New York as a result of clashes between the +private troops of rival racket gangs, political parties and business +houses. + +"Which brings us to the local scene. On my way to the studio this +morning, I stopped at City Hall, and found our genial Chief of Police +Delaney, 'Irish' Delaney to most of us, hard at work with a portable +disintegrator, getting rid of record disks and recording tapes of old +and long-settled cases. He had a couple of amusing stories. For +instance, a lone Independent-Conservative partisan broke up a +Radical-Socialist mass meeting preparatory to a march to demonstrate +in Double Times Square, by applying his pocket lighter to one of the +heat-sensitive boxes in the building and activating the sprinkler +system. By the time the Radicals had gotten into dry clothing, there +was a, well, sort of, impromptu Conservative demonstration going on in +Double Times Square, and one of the few things the local gendarmes +won't stand for is an attempt to hold two rival political meetings in +the same area. + +"Curiously, while it was the Radicals who got soaked, it was the +Conservatives who sneezed," Mongery went on, his face glowing with +mischievous amusement. "It seems that while they were holding a +monster rally at Hague Hall, in North Jersey Borough, some person or +persons unknown got at the air-conditioning system with a tank of +sneeze gas, which didn't exactly improve either the speaking style of +Senator Grant Hamilton or the attentiveness of his audience. Needless +to say, there is no police investigation of either incident. Election +shenanigans, like college pranks, are fair play as long as they don't +cause an outright holocaust. And that, I think, is as it should be," +Mongery went on, more seriously. "Most of the horrors of the Twentieth +and Twenty-first Centuries were the result of taking politics too +seriously." + +Pelton snorted again. That was the Literate line, all right; treat +politics as a joke and an election as a sporting event, let the +Independent-Conservative grafters stay in power, and let the Literates +run the country through them. Not, of course, that he disapproved of +those boys in the Young Radical League who'd thought up that +sneeze-gas trick. + +"And now, what you've been waiting for," Mongery continued. "The final +Trotter Poll's pre-election analysis." A novice Literate advanced, +handing him a big loose-leaf book, which he opened with the reverence +a Literate always displayed toward the written word. "This," he said, +"is going to surprise you. For the whole state of Penn-Jersey-York, +the poll shows a probable Radical-Socialist vote of approximately +thirty million, an Independent-Conservative vote of approximately ten +and a half million, and a vote of about a million for what we call the +Who-Gives-A-Damn Party, which, frankly, is the party of your +commentator's choice. Very few sections differ widely from this +average--there will be a much heavier Radical vote in the Pittsburgh +area, and traditionally Conservative Philadelphia and the upper Hudson +Valley will give the Radicals a much smaller majority." + +They all looked at one another, thunderstruck. + +"If Mongery's admitting that, I'm in!" Pelton exclaimed. + +"Yeah, we can start calling him Senator, now, and really mean it," Ray +said. "Maybe old Mongie isn't such a bad sort of twerp, after all." + +"Considering that the Conservatives carried this state by a +substantial majority in the presidential election of two years ago, +and by a huge majority in the previous presidential election of 2136," +Mongery, in the screen, continued, "this verdict of the almost +infallible Trotter Poll needs some explaining. For the most part, it +is the result of the untiring efforts of one man, the dynamic new +leader of the Radical-Socialists and their present candidate for the +Consolidated States of North America Senate, Chester Pelton, who has +transformed that once-moribund party into the vital force it is today. +And this achievement has been due, very largely, to a single slogan +which he had hammered into your ears: _Put the Literates in their +place; our servants, not our masters!_" He brushed a hand +deprecatingly over his white smock and fingered the badges on his +belt. + +"There has always been, on the part of the Illiterate public, some +resentment against organized Literacy. In part, it has been due to the +high fees charged for Literate services, and to what seems, to many, +to be monopolistic practices. But behind that is a general attitude of +anti-intellectualism which is our heritage from the disastrous wars of +the Twentieth and Twenty-first Centuries. Chester Pelton has made +himself the spokesman of this attitude. In his view, it was men who +could read and write who hatched the diabolical political ideologies +and designed the frightful nuclear weapons of that period. In his +mind, Literacy is equated with '_Mein Kampf_' and '_Das Kapital_', +with the A-bomb and the H-bomb, with concentration camps and blasted +cities. From this position, of course, I beg politely to differ. +Literate men also gave us the Magna Charta and the Declaration of +Independence. + +"Now, in spite of a lunatic fringe in the Consolidated Illiterates' +Organization who want just that, Chester Pelton knows that we cannot +abolish Literacy entirely. Even with modern audio-visual recording, +need exists for some modicum of written recording, which can be +rapidly scanned and selected from--indexing, cataloguing, tabulating +data, et cetera--and for at least a few men and women who can form and +interpret the written word. Mr. Pelton, himself, is the owner of a +huge department store, employing over a thousand Illiterates; he must +at all times have the services of at least fifty Literates." + +"And pays through the nose for them, too!" Pelton growled. It was more +than fifty; and Russ Latterman had been forced to get twenty extras +sent in for the sale. + +"Now, since we cannot renounce Literacy entirely, without sinking to +_fellahin_ barbarism, and here I definitely part company with Mr. +Pelton, he fears the potential power of organized Literacy. In a word, +he fears a future Literate Dictatorship." + +"Future? What do you think we have now?" Pelton demanded. + +"Nobody," Mongery said, as though replying to him, "is stupid enough, +today, to want to be a dictator. That ended by the middle of the +Twenty-first Century. Everybody knows what happened to Mussolini, and +Hitler, and Stalin, and all their imitators. Why, it is as much the +public fear of Big Government as the breakdown of civil power because +of the administrative handicap of a shortage of Literate +administrators that is responsible for the disgraceful lawlessness of +the past hundred years. Thus, it speaks well for the public trust in +Chester Pelton's known integrity and sincerity that so many of our +people are willing to agree to his program for socialized Literacy. +They feel that he can be trusted, and, violently as I disagree with +him, I can only say that that trust is not misplaced. + +"Of course, there is also the question, so often raised by Mr. Pelton, +that under the Hamilton machine, the politics, and particularly the +enforcement of the laws, in this state, are unbelievably corrupt, but +I wonder--" + +Mongery paused. "Just a moment; I see a flash bulletin being brought +in." The novice Literate came to his side and gave him a slip of +paper, at which he glanced. Then he laughed heartily. + +"It seems that shortly after I began speaking, the local blue-ribbon +grand jury issued a summons for Chief Delaney to appear before them, +with all his records. Unfortunately, the summons could not be served; +Chief Delaney had just boarded a strato-rocket from Tom Dewey Field +for Buenos Aires." He cocked an eye at the audience. "I know Irish is +going to have a nice time, down there in the springtime of the +Southern Hemisphere. And, incidentally, the Argentine is one of the +few major powers which never signed the World Extradition Convention +of 2087." He raised his hand to his audience. "And now, until tomorrow +at breakfast, sincerely yours for Cardon's Black Bottle, Elliot C. +Mongery." + +"Well, whattaya know; that guy was plugging for you!" Ray said. "And +see how he managed to slide in that bit about corruption, right before +his stooge handed him that bulletin?" + +"I guess every Literate has his price," Chester Pelton said. "I wonder +how much of my money that cost. I always wondered why Frank Cardon +sponsored Mongery. Now I know. Mongery can be had." + +"Uh, beg your pardon, Mr. Pelton," a voice from the hall broke in. + +He turned. Olaf Olafsson, the 'copter driver, was standing at the +entrance to the breakfast nook, a smudge of oil on his cheek and his +straw-colored hair in disorder. "How do I go about startin' this new +'copter?" + +"What?" Olaf had been his driver for ten years. He would have been +less surprised had the ceiling fallen in. "You don't know how to start +it?" + +"No, sir. The controls is all different from on the summer model. +Every time I try to raise it, it backs up; if I try to raise it much +more, we won't have no wall left on the landing stage." + +"Well, isn't there a book?" + +"There ain't no pictures in it; nothing but print. It's a Literate +book," Olaf said in disgust, as though at something obscene. "An' +there ain't nothin' on the instrument board but letters." + +"That's right," Ray agreed. "I saw the book; no pictures in it at +all." + +"Well, of all the quarter-witted stupidity! The confounded imbeciles +at that agency--" + +Pelton started to his feet. Claire unlocked the table and slid it out +of his way. Ray, on a run, started for the lift and vanished. + +"I think some confounded Literate at the Rolls-Cadipac agency did +that," he fumed. "Thought it would be a joke to send me a Literate +instruction book along with a 'copter with a Literate instrument +board. Ah, I get it! So I'd have to call in a Literate to show me how +to start my own 'copter, and by noon they'd be laughing about it in +every bar from Pittsburgh to Plattsburg. Sneaky Literate trick!" They +went to the lift, and found the door closed in their faces. "Oh, +confound that boy!" + +Claire pressed the button. Ray must have left the lift, for the +operating light went on, and in a moment the door opened. He crowded +into the lift, along with his daughter and Olaf. + +On the landing stage, Ray was already in the 'copter, poking at +buttons on the board. + +"Look, Olaf!" he called. "They just shifted them around a little from +the summer model. This one, where the prop-control used to be on the +old model, is the one that backs it up on the ground. Here's the one +that erects and extends the prop,"--he pushed it, and the prop snapped +obediently into place--"and here's the one that controls the lift." + +An ugly suspicion stabbed at Chester Pelton, bringing with it a +feeling of frightened horror. + +"How do you know?" he demanded. + +Ray's eyes remained on the instrument board. He pushed another button, +and the propeller began swinging in a lazy circle; he pressed down +with his right foot, and the 'copter lifted a foot or so. + +"What?" he asked. "Oh, Jimmy showed me how theirs works. Mr. Hartnett +got one like it a week ago." He motioned to Olaf, setting the 'copter +down again. "Come here; I'll show you." + +The suspicion, and the horror passed in a wave of relief. + +"You think you and Olaf, between you, can get that thing to school?" +he asked. + +"Sure! Easy!" + +"All right. You show Olaf how to run it. Olaf, as soon as you've +dropped Ray at school, take that thing to the Rolls-Cadipac agency, +and get a new one, with a proper instrument board, and a proper +picture book of operating instructions. I'm going to call Sam Huschack +up personally and give him royal hell about this. Sure you can handle +it, now?" + +He watched the 'copter rise to the two thousand foot local traffic +level and turn in the direction of Mineola High School, fifty miles +away. He was still looking anxiously after it as it dwindled to a tiny +dot and vanished. + +"They'll make it all right," Claire told him. "Olaf has a strong back, +and Ray has a good head." + +"It wasn't that that I was worried about." He turned and looked, half +ashamed, at his daughter. "You know, for a minute, there, I thought ... I +thought Ray could read!" + +"Father!" She was so shocked that she forgot the nickname they had +given him when he had announced his candidacy for Senate, in the +spring. "You didn't!" + +"I know; it's an awful thing to think, but--Well, the kids today do +the craziest things. There's that Hartnett boy he runs around with; +Tom Hartnett bought Literate training for him. And that fellow +Prestonby; I don't trust him--" + +"Prestonby?" Claire asked, puzzled. + +"Oh, you know. The principal at school. You've met him." + +Claire wrinkled her brow--just like her mother, when she was trying to +remember something. + +"Oh, yes. I met him at that P.T.A. meeting. He didn't impress me as +being much like a teacher, but I suppose they think anything's good +enough for us Illiterates." + + * * * * * + +Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby remained standing by the +lectern, looking out over the crowded auditorium, still pleasantly +surprised to estimate the day's attendance at something like +ninety-seven per cent of enrollment. That was really good; why, it was +only three per cent short of perfect! Maybe it was the new rule +requiring a sound-recorded excuse for absence. Or it could have been +his propaganda campaign about the benefits of education. Or, very +easily, it could have been the result of sending Doug Yetsko and some +of his boys around to talk to recalcitrant parents. It was good to see +that that was having some effect beside an increase in the number of +attempts on his life, or the flood of complaints to the Board of +Education. Well, Lancedale had gotten Education merged with his +Office of Communications, and Lancedale was back of him to the limit, +so the complaints had died out on the empty air. And Doug Yetsko was +his bodyguard, so most of the would-be assassins had died, also. + +The "North American Anthem," which had replaced the "Star-Spangled +Banner" after the United States-Canadian-Mexican merger, came to an +end. The students and their white-smocked teachers, below, relaxed +from attention; most of them sat down, while monitors and teachers in +the rear were getting the students into the aisles and marching them +off to study halls and classrooms and workshops. The orchestra struck +up a lively march tune. He leaned his left elbow--Literates learned +early, or did not live to learn, not to immobilize the right hand--on +the lectern and watched the interminable business of getting the +students marched out, yearning, as he always did at this time, for the +privacy of his office, where he could smoke his pipe. Finally, they +were all gone, and the orchestra had gathered up its instruments and +filed out into the wings of the stage, and he looked up to the left +and said, softly: + +"All right, Doug; show's over." + +With a soft thud, the big man dropped down from the guard's cubicle +overhead, grinning cheerfully. He needed a shave--Yetsko always did, +in the mornings--and in his leather Literates' guard uniform, he +looked like some ogreish giant out of the mythology of the past. + +[Illustration:] + +"I was glad to have you up there with the Big Noise, this morning," +Prestonby said. "What a mob! I'm still trying to figure out why we +have such an attendance." + +"Don't you get it, captain?" Yetsko was reaching up to lock the door +of his cubicle; he seemed surprised at Prestonby's obtuseness. "Day +before election; the little darlings' moms and pops don't want them +out running around. We can look for another big crowd tomorrow, too." + +Prestonby gave a snort of disgust. "Of course; how imbecilic can I +really get? I didn't notice any of them falling down, so I suppose you +didn't see anything out of line." + +"Well, the hall monitors make them turn in their little playthings at +the doors," Yetsko said, "but hall monitors can be gotten at, and some +of the stuff they make in Manual Training, when nobody's watching +them--" + +Prestonby nodded. Just a week before, a crude but perfectly operative +17-mm shotgun had been discovered in the last stages of manufacture in +the machine shop, and five out of six of the worn-out files would +vanish, to be ground down into dirks. He often thought of the stories +of his grandfather, who had been a major during the Occupation of +Russia, after the Fourth World War. Those old-timers didn't know how +easy they'd had it; they should have tried to run an Illiterate high +school. + +Yetsko was still grumbling slanders on the legitimacy of the student +body. "One of those little angels shoots me, it's just a cute little +prank, and we oughtn't to frown on the little darling when it's just +trying to express its dear little personality, or we might give it +complexes, or something," he falsettoed incongruously. "And if the +little darling's mistake doesn't kill me outright and I shoot back, +people talk about King Herod!" He used language about the Board of +Education and the tax-paying public that was probably subversive +within the meaning of the Loyalty Oath. "I wish I had a pair of 40-mm +auto-cannons up there, instead of that sono gun." + +"Each class is a little worse than the one before; in about five +years, they'll be making H-bombs in the lab," Prestonby said. In the +last week, a dozen pupils had been seriously cut or blackjacked in +hall and locker-room fights. "Nice citizens of the future; nice future +to look forward to growing old in." + +"We won't," Yetsko comforted him. "We can't be lucky all the time; in +about a year, they'll find both of us stuffed into a broom closet, +when they start looking around to see what's making all the stink." + + * * * * * + +Prestonby took the thick-barreled gas pistol from the shelf under the +lectern and shoved it into his hip pocket; Yetsko picked up a +two-and-a-half foot length of rubber hose and tucked it under his left +arm. Together, they went back through the wings and out into the +hallway that led to the office. So a Twenty-second Century high school +was a place where a teacher carried a pistol and a tear-gas projector +and a sleep-gas gun, and had a bodyguard, and still walked in danger +of his life from armed 'teen-age hooligans. It was meaningless to ask +whose fault it was. There had been the World Wars, and the cold-war +interbellum periods--rising birth rates, huge demands on the public +treasury for armaments, with the public taxed to the saturation point, +and no money left for the schools. There had been fantastic +"Progressive" education experiments--even in the 'Fifties of the +Twentieth Century, in the big cities, children were being pushed +through grade school without having learned to read. And when there +had been money available for education, school boards had insisted on +spending it for audio-visual equipment, recordings, films, anything +but textbooks. And there had been that lunatic theory that children +should be taught to read by recognizing whole words instead of +learning the alphabet. And more and more illiterates had been shoved +out of the schools, into a world where radio and television and moving +pictures were supplanting books and newspapers, and more and more +children of illiterates had gone to school without any desire or +incentive to learn to read. And finally, the illiterates had become +Illiterates, and literacy had become Literacy. + +And now, the Associated Fraternities of Literates had come to +monopolize the ability to read and write, and a few men like William +R. Lancedale, with a handful of followers like Ralph N. Prestonby, +were trying-- + +The gleaming cleanliness of the corridor, as always, heartened +Prestonby a little; it was a trophy of victory from his first two days +at Mineola High School, three years ago. He remembered what they had +looked like when he had first seen them. + +"This school is a pig pen!" he had barked at the janitorial force. +"And even if they are Illiterates, these children aren't pigs; they +deserve decent surroundings. This school will be cleaned, immediately, +from top to bottom, and it'll be kept that way." + +The janitors, all political appointees, Independent-Conservative +party-hacks, secure in their jobs, had laughed derisively. The +building superintendent, without troubling to rise, had answered him: + +"Young man, you don't want to get off on the wrong foot, here," he had +said. "This here's the way this school's always been run, an' it's +gonna take a lot more than you to change it." + +The fellow's name, he recalled, was Kettner; Lancedale had given him +a briefing which had included some particulars about him. He was an +Independent-Conservative ward-committeeman. He had gotten his present +job after being fired from his former position as mailman for +listening to other peoples' mail with his pocket recorder-reproducer. + +"Yetsko," he had said. "Kick this bum out on his face." + +"You can't get away with--" Kettner had begun. Yetsko had yanked him +out of his chair with one hand and started for the door with him. + +"Just a moment, Yetsko," he had said. + +Thinking that he was backing down, they had all begun grinning at him. + +"Don't bother opening the door," he had said. "Just kick him out." + +After the third kick, Kettner had gotten the door open, himself; the +fourth kick sent him across the hall to the opposite wall. He pulled +himself to his feet and limped away, never to return. The next +morning, the school was spotless. It had stayed that way. + +Beside him, Yetsko must also have returned mentally to the past. + +"Looks better now than it did when we first saw it, captain," he said. + +"Yes. It didn't take us as long to clean up this mess as it did to +clean up that mutinous guards company in Pittsburgh. But when we +cleaned that up, it stayed cleaned. This is like trying to bail out a +boat with a pitchfork." + +"Yeah. I wish we'dda stayed in Pittsburgh, captain. I wish we'd never +seen this place!" + +"So do I!" Prestonby agreed, heartily. + +No, he didn't, either. If he'd never have come to Mineola High School, +he'd never have found Claire Pelton. + + * * * * * + +Sitting down again at the breakfast table with her father, Claire +levered another cigarette out of the Readilit and puffed at it with +exaggeratedly bored slowness. She was still frightened. Ray shouldn't +have done what he did, even if he had furnished a plausible +explanation. The trouble with plausible explanations was having to +make them. Sooner or later, you made too many, and then you made one +that wasn't so plausible, and then all the others were remembered, and +they all looked phony. And why had the Senator had to mention Ralph? +Was he beginning to suspect the truth about that, too? + +I hope not! she thought desperately. If he ever found out about that, +it'd kill him. Just kill him, period! + +Mrs. Harris must have turned off the video, after they had gone up to +the landing stage. To cover her nervousness, she reached up and +snapped it on again. The screen lit, and from it a young man with dark +eyes under bushy black brows was shouting angrily: + +"... Most obvious sort of conspiracy! If the Radical-Socialist Party +leaders, or the Consolidated Illiterates' Organization Political +Action Committee, need any further evidence of the character of their +candidate and idolized leader, Chester Pelton, the treatment given to +Pelton's candidacy by Literate First Class Elliot C. Mongery, this +morning, ought to be sufficient to remove the scales from the eyes of +the blindest of them. I won't state, in so many words, that Chester +Pelton's sold out the Radical-Socialists and the Consolidated +Illiterates' Organization to the Associated Fraternities of Literates, +because, since no witness to any actual transfer of money can be +found, such a statement would be libelous--provided Pelton had nerve +enough to sue me." + +"Why, you dirty misbegotten illegitimate--!" Pelton was on his feet. +His hand went to his hip, and then, realizing that he was unarmed and, +in any case, confronted only by an electronic image, he sat down +again. + +"Pelton's been yapping for socialized Literacy," the man on the screen +continued. "I'm not going back to the old argument that any kind of +socialization is only the thin edge of the wedge which will pry open +the pit of horrors from which the world has climbed since the Fourth +World War. If you don't realize that now, it's no use for me to +repeat it again. But I will ask you, do you realize, for a moment, +what a program of socialized Literacy would mean, apart from the +implications of any kind of socialization? It would mean that inside +of five years, the Literates would control the whole government. They +control the courts, now--only a Literate can become a lawyer, and only +a lawyer can become a judge. They control the armed forces--only a +Literate can enter West Point or Fort MacKenzie or Chapultepec or +White Sands or Annapolis. And, if Chester Pelton's socialization +scheme goes into effect, there will be no branch of the government +which will not be completely under the control of the Associated +Fraternities of Literates!" + +The screen went suddenly dark. Her father turned, to catch her with +her hand still on the switch. + +"Put it back on; I want to hear what that lying pimp of a Slade +Gardner's saying about me!" + +"Phooy; you'd have shot it out, yourself, if you'd had your gun on. I +saw you reaching for it. Now be quiet, and take it easy," she ordered. + +He reached toward the Readilit for a cigarette, then his hand stopped. +His face was contorted with pain; he gave a gasp of suffocation. + +Claire cried in dismay: "You're not going to have another of those +attacks? Where are the nitrocaine bulbs?" + +"Don't ... have any ... here. Some at the office, but--" + +"I told you to get more," she accused. + +"Oh, I don't need them, really." His voice was steadier, now; the +spasm of pain had passed. He filled his coffee cup and sipped from it. +"Turn on the video again, Claire. I want to hear what that Gardner's +saying." + +"I will not! Don't you have people at party headquarters monitoring +this stuff? Well, then. Somebody'll prepare an answer, if he needs +answering." + +"I think he does. A lot of these dumbos'll hear that and believe it. +I'll talk to Frank. He'll know what to do." + +Frank again. She frowned. + +"Look, Senator; you think Frank Cardon's your friend, but I don't +trust him. I never could," she said. "I think he's utterly and +entirely unscrupulous. Amoral, I believe, is the word. Like a savage, +or a pirate, or one of the old-time Nazis or Communists." + +"Oh, Claire!" her father protested. "Frank's in a tough business--you +have no idea the lengths competition goes to in the beer business--and +he's been in politics, and dealing with racketeers and labor unions, +all his life. But he's a good sound Illiterate--family Illiterate for +four generations, like ours--and I'd trust him with anything. You +heard this fellow Mongery--I always have to pause to keep from +calling him Mongrel--saying that I deserved the credit for pulling the +Radicals out of the mud and getting the party back on the tracks. +Well, I couldn't have begun to do it without Frank Cardon." + + * * * * * + +Frank Cardon stood on the sidewalk, looking approvingly into the window +of O'Reilly's Tavern, in which his display crew had already set up the +spread for the current week. On either side was a giant six-foot +replica, in black glass, of the Cardon bottle, in the conventional shape +accepted by an Illiterate public as containing beer, bearing the red +Cardon label with its pictured bottle in a central white disk. Because +of the heroic size of the bottles, the pictured bottle on the label bore +a bottle bearing a label bearing a bottle bearing a bottle on a +label.... He counted eight pictured bottles, down to the tiniest dot of +black. There were four-foot bottles next to the six-foot bottles, and +three-foot bottles next to them, and, in the middle background, a +life-size tri-dimensional picture of an almost nude and incredibly +pulchritudinous young lady smiling in invitation at the passing throng +and extending a foaming bottle of Cardon's in her hand. Aside from the +printed trademark-registry statements on the labels, there was not a +printed word visible in the window. + +He pushed through the swinging doors and looked down the long room, +with the chairs still roosting sleepily on the tables, and made a +quick count of the early drinkers, two thirds of them in white smocks +and Sam Browne belts, obviously from Literates' Hall, across the +street. Late drinkers, he corrected himself mentally; they'd be the +night shift, having their drinks before going home. + +"Good morning, Mr. Cardon," the bartender greeted him. "Still drinking +your own?" + +"Hasn't poisoned me yet," Cardon told him. "Or anybody else." He +folded a C-bill accordion-wise and set it on edge on the bar. "Give +everybody what they want." + +"Drink up, gentlemen, and have one on Mr. Cardon," the bartender +announced, then lowered his voice. "O'Reilly wants to see you. +About--" He gave a barely perceptible nod in the direction of the +building across the street. + +"Yes; I want to see him, too." Cardon poured from the bottle in front +of him, accepted the thanks of the house, and, when the bartender +brought the fifteen-dollars-odd change from the dozen drinks, he +pushed it back. + +He drank slowly, looking around the room, then set down his empty +glass and went back, past two doors which bore pictured half-doors +revealing, respectively, masculine-trousered and feminine-stockinged +ankles, and opened the unmarked office door beyond. The bartender, he +knew, had pushed the signal button; the door was unlocked, and, +inside, O'Reilly--baptismal name Luigi Orelli--was waiting. + +"Chief wants to see you, right away," the saloon keeper said. + +The brewer nodded. "All right. Keep me covered; don't know how long +I'll be." He crossed the room and opened a corner-cupboard, stepping +inside. + +The corner cupboard, which was an elevator, took him to a tunnel below +the street. Across the street, he entered another elevator, set the +indicator for the tenth floor, and ascended. As the car rose, he could +feel the personality of Frank Cardon, Illiterate brewer, drop from +him, as though he were an actor returning from the stage to his +dressing room. + +The room into which he emerged was almost that. There was a long +table, at which two white-smocked Literates drank coffee and went over +some papers; a third Literate sprawled in a deep chair, resting; at a +small table, four men in black shirts and leather breeches and field +boots played poker, while a fifth, who had just entered and had not +yet removed his leather helmet and jacket or his weapons belt, stood +watching them. + +Cardon went to a row of lockers along the wall, opened one, and took +out a white smock, pulling it over his head and zipping it up to the +throat. Then he buckled on a Sam Browne with its tablet holster and +stylus gas projector. The Literate sprawling in the chair opened one +eye. + +"Hi, Frank. Feels good to have them on again, doesn't it?" + +"Yes. Clean," Cardon replied. "It'll be just for half an hour, but--" + +He passed through the door across from the elevator, went down a short +hall, and spoke in greeting to the leather-jacketed storm trooper on +guard outside the door at the other end. + +"Mr. Cardon," the guard nodded. "Mr. Lancedale's expecting you." + +"So I understand, Bert." + +He opened the door and went through. William R. Lancedale rose from +behind his desk and advanced to greet him with a quick handshake, +guiding him to a chair beside the desk. As he did, he sniffed and +raised an eyebrow. + +"Beer this early, Frank?" he asked. + +"Morning, noon, and night, chief," Cardon replied. "When you said this +job was going to be dangerous, I didn't know you meant that it would +lead straight to an alcoholic's grave." + +"Let me get you a cup of coffee, and a cigar, then." The white-haired +Literate executive resumed his seat, passing a hand back and forth +slowly across the face of the commo, the diamond on his finger +twinkling, and gave brief instructions. "And just relax, for a minute. +You have a tough job, this time, Frank." + +They were both silent as a novice Literate bustled in with coffee and +individually-sealed cigars. + +"At least, you're not one of these plain-living-and-right-thinking +fanatics, like Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves," Cardon said. "On top +of everything else, that I could not take." + +Lancedale's thin face broke into a smile, little wrinkles putting his +mouth in parentheses. Cardon sampled the coffee, and then used a +Sixteenth Century Italian stiletto from Lancedale's desk to perforate +the end of his cigar. + +"Much as I hate it, I'll have to get out of here as soon as I can," he +said. "I don't know how long O'Reilly can keep me covered, down at the +tavern--" + +Lancedale nodded. "Well, how are things going, then?" + +"First of all, the brewery," Cardon began. + +Lancedale consigned the brewery to perdition. "That's just your cover; +any money it makes is purely irrelevant. How about the election?" + +"Pelton's in," Cardon said. "As nearly in as any candidate ever was +before the polls opened. Three months ago, the Independents were as +solid as Gibraltar used to be. Today, they look like Gibraltar after +that H-bomb hit it. The only difference is, they don't know what hit +them, yet." + +"Hamilton's campaign manager does," Lancedale said. "Did you hear his +telecast, this morning?" + +Cardon shook his head. Lancedale handed over a little half-inch, +thirty-minute, record disk. + +"All you need is the first three or four minutes," he said. "The rest +of it is repetition." + +Cardon put the disk in his pocket recorder and set it for play-back, +putting the plug in his ear. After a while, he shut it off and took +out the ear plug. + +"That's bad! What are we going to do about it?" + +Lancedale shrugged. "What are you going to do?" he countered. "You're +Pelton's campaign manager--Heaven pity him." + +Cardon thought for a moment. "We'll play it for laughs," he decided. "Some +of our semantics experts could make the joke of the year out of it by the +time the polls open tomorrow. The Fraternities bribing their worst enemy to +attack them, so that he can ruin their business; who's been listening to a +tape of 'Alice in Wonderland' at Independent-Conservative headquarters?" + +"That would work," Lancedale agreed. "And we can count on our friends +Joyner and Graves to give you every possible assistance with their +customary bull-in-a-china-shop tactics. I suppose you've seen these +posters they've been plastering around: _If you can read this, +Chester Pelton is your sworn enemy! A vote for Pelton is a vote for +your own enslavement!_" + +"Naturally. And have you seen the telecast we've been using--a view of +it, with a semantically correct spoken paraphrase?" + +Lancedale nodded. "And I've also noticed that those posters have been +acquiring different obscene crayon-drawings, too. That's just typical +of the short-range Joyner-Graves mentality. Why, they've made more +votes for Pelton than he's made for himself. Is it any wonder we're +convinced that people like that aren't to be trusted to formulate the +future policy of the Fraternities?" + +"Well ... they've proved themselves wrong. I wonder, though, if we can +prove ourselves right, in the long run. There are times when this +thing scares me, chief. If anything went wrong--" + +"What, for instance?" + +"Somebody could get to Pelton." Cardon made a stabbing gesture with +the stiletto, which he still held. "Maybe you don't really know how +hot this thing's gotten. What we had to cut out of Mongery's report, +this morning--" + +"Oh, I've been keeping in touch," Lancedale understated gently. + +"Well then. If anything happened to Pelton, there wouldn't be a +Literate left alive in this city twelve hours later. And I question +whether or not Graves and Joyner know that." + +"I think they do. If they don't, it's not because I've failed to point +it out to them. Of course, there are the Independent-Conservative +grafters; a lot of them are beginning to hear jail doors opening for +them, and they're scared. But I think routine body-guarding ought to +protect Pelton from them, or from any isolated fanatics." + +"And there is also the matter of Pelton's daughter, and his son," +Cardon said. "We know, and Graves and Joyner know, and I assume that +Slade Gardner knows, that they can both read and write as well as any +Literate in the Fraternities. Suppose that got out between now and the +election?" + +"And that could not only hurt Pelton, but it would expose the work +we've been doing in the schools," Lancedale added. "And even inside +the Fraternities, that would raise the devil. Joyner and Graves don't +begin to realize how far we've gone with that. They could kick up a +simply hideous row about it!" + +"And if Pelton found out that his kids are Literates--_Woooo!_" Cardon +grimaced. "Or what we've been doing to him. I hope I'm not around when +that happens. I'm beginning to like the cantankerous old bugger." + +"I was afraid of that," Lancedale said. "Well, don't let it interfere +with what you have to do. Remember, Frank; the Plan has to come first, +always." + +He walked with O'Reilly to the street door, talking about tomorrow's +election; after shaking hands with the saloon keeper, he crossed the +sidewalk and stepped onto the beltway, moving across the strips until +he came to the twenty m.p.h. strip. The tall office buildings of upper +Yonkers Borough marched away as he stood on the strip, appreciatively +puffing at Lancedale's cigar. The character of the street changed; the +buildings grew lower, and the quiet and fashionable ground-floor shops +and cafes gave place to bargain stores, their audio-advertisers +whooping urgently about improbable prices and offerings, and garish, +noisy, crowded bars and cafeterias blaring recorded popular music. +There was quite a bit of political advertising in evidence--huge +pictures of the two major senatorial candidates. He estimated that +Chester Pelton's bald head and bulldog features appeared twice for +every one of Grant Hamilton's white locks, old-fashioned spectacles +and self-satisfied smirk. + +Then he came to the building on which he had parked his 'copter, and +left the beltway, entering and riding up to the landing stage on the +helical escalator. There seemed to have been some trouble; about a +dozen Independent-Conservative storm troopers, in their white robes +and hoods, with the fiery-cross emblem on their breasts, were bunched +together, most of them with their right hands inside their bosoms, +while a similar group of Radical-Conservative storm troopers, with +their black sombreros and little black masks, stood watching them and +fingering the white-handled pistols they wore in pairs on their belts. +Between the two groups were four city policemen, looking acutely +unhappy. + +The group in the Lone Ranger uniforms, he saw, were standing in front +of a huge tri-dimensional animated portrait of Chester Pelton. As he +watched, the pictured candidate raised a clenched fist, and Pelton's +recorded and amplified voice thundered: + +"_Put the Literates in their place! Our servants, not our masters!_" + +He recognized the group leader of the Radical-Socialists--the masks +were too small to be more than token disguises--and beckoned to him, +at the same time walking toward his 'copter. The man in black with the +white-handled pistols followed him, spurs jingling. + +"Hello, Mr. Cardon," he said, joining him. "Nothing to it. We got a +tip they were coming to sabotage Big Brother, over there. Take out our +sound-recording, and put in one of their own, like they did over in +Queens, last week. The town clowns got here in time to save +everybody's face, so there wasn't any shooting. We're staying put till +they go, though." + +"_Put the Literates in their place! Our servants, not our masters!_" +the huge tridianimate bellowed. + +Over in Queens, the Independents had managed to get at a similar +tridianimate, had taken out the record, and had put in one: _I am a +lying fraud! Vote for Grant Hamilton and liberty and sound +government!_ + +"Smart work, Goodkin," he approved. "Don't let any of your boys start +the gunplay. The city cops are beginning to get wise to who's going to +win the election, tomorrow, but don't antagonize them. But if any of +those Ku Kluxers tries to pull a gun, don't waste time trying to wing +him. Just hold on to that fiery something-or-other on his chest and +let him have it, and let the coroner worry about him." + +"Yeah. With pleasure," Goodkin replied. "You know, that nightshirt +thing they wear is about the stupidest idea for a storm-troop uniform +I ever saw. Natural target in a gunfight, and in a rough-and-tumble it +gets them all tangled up. Ah, there go a couple of coppers to talk to +them; that's what they've been waiting on. Now they can beat it +without looking like they been run out by our gang." + +Cardon nodded. "Tell your boys to stay around for a while; they may +expect you to leave right after they do, and then they'll try to slip +back. You did a good job; got here promptly. Be seeing you, Goodkin." + +He climbed into his own 'copter and started the motor. + +"_Put the Literates in their place!_" the tri-dimensional colossus +roared triumphantly after the retreating Independents. "_Our servants, +not our masters!_" + + * * * * * + +At eight thousand, he got the 'copter onto the lower Manhattan beam +and relaxed. First of all, he'd have to do something about answering +Slade Gardner's telecast propaganda. That stuff was dangerous. The +answer ought to go on the air by noon, and should be stepped up +through the afternoon. First as a straight news story; Elliot Mongery +had fifteen minutes, beginning at 1215--no, that wouldn't do. +Mongery's sponsor for that time was Atomflame Heaters, and Atomflame +was a subsidiary of Canada Northwest Fissionables, and Canada +Northwest was umbilicus-deep in that Kettle River lease graft that +Pelton had sworn to get investigated as soon as he took office. +Professional ethics wouldn't allow Mongery to say anything in Pelton's +behalf on Atomflame's time. Well, there was Guthrie Parham, he came on +at 1245, and his sponsor was all right. He'd call Parham and tell him +what he wanted done. + +[Illustration:] + +The buzzer warned him that he was approaching the lower Manhattan +beacon; he shifted to manual control, dropped down to the +three-thousand-foot level, and set his selector beam for the signal +from Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise. Down toward the tip of the island, +in the section that had been rebuilt after that Stalin Mark XV +guided missile had gotten through the counter-rocket defenses in 1987, +he could see the quadrate cross of his goal, with public landing +stages on each of the four arms, and the higher central block with its +landing stage for freight and store personnel. Above the four public +stages, helicopters swarmed like May flies--May flies which had +mutated and invented ritual or military drill or choreography--coming +in in four streams to the tips of the arms and rising vertically from +the middle. There was about ten times the normal amount of traffic for +this early in the morning. He wondered, briefly, then remembered, and +cursed. That infernal sale! + +Grudgingly, he respected Russell Latterman's smartness, and in +consequence, the ability of Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves in +selecting a good agent to plant in Pelton's store. Latterman gave a +plausible impersonation of the Illiterate businessman, loyal Prime +Minister of Pelton's commercial empire, Generalissimo in the perpetual +war against Macy & Gimbel's. From that viewpoint, the sale was +excellent business--Latterman had gotten the jump on all the other +department stores for the winter fashions and fall sports trade. He +had also turned the store into a madhouse at the exact time when +Chester Pelton needed to give all his attention to the election. + +Pressing the button that put on his private recognition signal, he +rose above the incoming customers and began to drop toward the +private landing stage, circling to get a view of the other four +stages. Maybe the sale could be turned to some advantage, at that. A +free souvenir with each purchase, carrying a Pelton-for-Senator +picture-message-- + +He broke off, peering down at the five-hundred-foot-square landing stage +above the central block, then brought his 'copter swooping down rapidly. +The white-clad figures he had seen swarming up the helical escalator +were not wearing the Ku Klux robes of the Independent-Conservative storm +troops, as he had first feared--they were in Literate smocks, and among +them were the black leather jackets and futuristic helmets of their +guards. They were led, he saw, by Stephen S. Bayne, the store's Chief +Literate; with him were his assistant, Literate Third Class Roger B. +Feinberg, and the novices carrying books and briefcases and cased +typewriters, and the guards, and every Literate employed in the store. +Four or five men in ordinarily vivid-colored business suits were +obviously expostulating about something. As he landed and threw back the +transparent canopy, he could hear a babel of voices, above which +Feinberg was crying: "Unfair! Unfair! Unfair to Organized Literacy!" + +He jumped out and hurried over. + + * * * * * + +"But you simply can't!" a white-haired man in blue-and-orange business +clothes was protesting. "If you do, the Associated Fraternities'll be +liable for losses we incur; you know that!" + +Bayne, his thin face livid with anger--and also, Cardon noticed, with +what looked like a couple of fresh bruises--ignored him. Feinberg +broke off his chant of "Unfair! Unfair!" long enough to answer: + +"A Literate First Class has been brutally assaulted by the Illiterate +owner of this store. Literate service for this store is, accordingly, +being discontinued, pending a decision by the Grand Council of the +local Fraternity." + +Cardon grabbed the blue-and-orange clad man and dragged him to one +side. + +"What happened, Hutschnecker?" he demanded. + +"They're walking out on us," Hutschnecker told him, unnecessarily. +"The boss had a fight with Bayne; knocked him down a couple of times. +Bayne tried to pull his tablet gun, and I grabbed it away from him, +and somebody else grabbed Pelton before he could pull his, and a +couple of store cops got all the other Literates in the office +covered. Then Bayne put on the general-address system and began +calling out the Literates--" + +"Yes, but why did Pelton beat Bayne up?" + +"Bayne made a pass at Miss Claire. I wasn't there when it happened; +she came into the office--" + +Cardon felt his face tighten into a frown of perplexity. That wasn't +like Literate First Class Stephen S. Bayne. He made quite a hobby of +pinching salesgirls behind the counter which was one thing; the boss' +daughter was quite another. + +"Where's Latterman?" he asked, looking around. + +"Down in the office, with the others, trying to help Mr. Pelton. He's +had another of those heart attacks--" + +Cardon swore and ran for the descending escalator, running down the +rotating spiral to the executive floor and jumping off into the +gawking mob of Illiterate clerks crowded in the open doors of Pelton's +office. He hit and shoved and elbowed and cursed them out of the way, +and burst into the big room beyond, and then, for a moment, he was +almost sorry he had come. + +Pelton was slumped in his big relaxer chair, his face pale and twisted +in pain, his breath coming in feeble gasps. His daughter was beside +him, her blond head bent over him; Russell Latterman was standing to +one side, watching intently. For an instant, Cardon was reminded of a +tomcat watching a promising mouse hole. + +"Claire!" Cardon exploded, "give him a nitrocaine bulb. Why are you +all just standing around?" + +Claire turned. "There are none," she said, looking at him with +desperate eyes. "The box is empty; he must have used them all." + +He shot a quick glance at Latterman, catching the sales manager before +he could erase a look of triumph from his face. Things began to add +up. Latterman, of course, was the undercover man for Wilton Joyner and +Harvey Graves and the rest of the Conservative faction at Literates' +Hall, just as he, himself, was Lancedale's agent. Obsessed with +immediate advantages and disadvantages, the Joyner-Graves faction +wanted to secure the re-election of Grant Hamilton, and the way things +had been going in the past two months, only Chester Pelton's death +could accomplish that. Latterman had probably thrown out Pelton's +nitrocaine capsules and then put Bayne up to insulting Pelton's +daughter, knowing that a fit of rage would bring on another heart +attack, which could be fatal without the medicine. + +"Well, send for more!" + +"The prescription's in the safe," she said faintly. + +The office safe was locked, and only a Literate could open it. The +double combination was neatly stenciled on the door, the numbers +spelled out as words and the letters spelled in phonetic equivalents. +All three of them--himself, Claire, and Russell Latterman--could read +them. None of them dared admit it. Latterman was fairly licking his +chops in anticipation. If Cardon opened the safe, Pelton's campaign +manager stood convicted as a Literate. If Claire opened it, the gaggle +of Illiterate clerks in the doorway would see, and speedily spread +the news, that the daughter of the arch-foe of Literacy was herself +able to read. Maybe Latterman hadn't really intended his employer to +die. Maybe this was the situation he had really intended to contrive. + +Chester Pelton couldn't be allowed to die. If Grant Hamilton were +returned to the Senate, the long-range planning of William Lancedale +would suffer a crushing setback, and the public reaction would be +catastrophic. _The Plan comes first_, Lancedale had told him. He made +his decision, and then saw that he hadn't needed to make it. Claire +had straightened, left her father, crossed quickly to the safe, and +was kneeling in front of it, her back stiff with determination, her +fingers busy at the dials, her eyes going from them to the printed +combination and back again. She swung open the door, skimmed through +the papers inside, unerringly selected the prescription, and rose. + +"Here, Russ; go get it filled at once," she ordered. "And hurry!" + +Oh, no, you don't, Cardon thought. One chance is enough for you, Russ. +He snatched the prescription from her and turned to Latterman. + +"I'll get it," he told the sales manager. "You're needed for the sale; +stay on the job here." + +"But with the Literates walked out, we can't--" + +Cardon blazed: "Do I have to teach you your business? Have a sample of +each item set aside at the counter, and pile sales slips under it. +And for unique items, just detach the tag and put it with the sales +slip. Now get out of here, and get cracking with it!" He picked up the +pistol that had been taken from Pelton when he had tried to draw it on +Bayne, checking the chamber and setting the safety. "Know how to use +this?" he asked Claire. "Then hang onto it, and stay close to your +father. This wasn't any accident, it was a deliberate attempt on his +life. I'll have a couple of store cops sent in here; see that they +stay with you." + +He gave her no chance to argue. Pushing Latterman ahead of him, he +drove through the mob of clerks outside the door. + +"... Course she can; didn't you see her open the safe?" he heard. +"... Nobody but a Literate--" "Then she's a Literate, herself!" + +A couple of centuries ago, they would have talked like that if it had +been discovered that the girl were pregnant; a couple of centuries +before that, they would have been equally horrified if she had been +discovered to have been a Protestant, or a Catholic, or whatever the +locally unpopular religion happened to be. By noon, this would be all +over Penn-Jersey-York; coming on top of Slade Gardner's accusations-- + + * * * * * + +He ran up the spiral escalator, stumbling and regaining his footing as +he left it. Bayne and his striking Literates were all gone; he saw a +sergeant of Pelton's store police and went toward him, taking his +spare identity-badge from his pocket. + +"Here," he said, handing it to the sergeant. "Get another officer, and +go down to Pelton's office. Show it to Miss Pelton, and tell her I +sent you. There's been an attempt on Chester Pelton's life; you're to +stay with him. Use your own judgment, but don't let anybody, and that +definitely includes Russell Latterman, get at him. If you see anything +suspicious, shoot first and ask questions afterwards. What's your +name, sergeant?" + +"Coccozello, sir. Guido Coccozello." + +"All right. There'll be a medic or a pharmacist--a Literate, +anyhow--with medicine for Mr. Pelton. He'll ask for you, by name, and +mention me. And there'll be another Literate, maybe; he'll know your +name, and use mine. Hurry, now, sergeant." + +He jumped into his 'copter, pulled forward the plexiglass canopy, and +took off vertically to ten thousand feet, then, orienting himself, +swooped downward toward a landing stage on the other side of the East +River, cutting across traffic levels with an utter contempt for +regulations. + +The building on which he landed was one of the principal pharmacies; +he spiraled down on the escalator to the main floor and went directly +to the Literate in charge, noticing that he wore on his Sam Browne not +only the badges of retail-merchandising, pharmacist and graduate +chemist but also that of medic-in-training. Snatching a pad and pencil +from a counter, he wrote hastily: _Your private office, at once; +urgent and important._ + +Looking at it, the Literate nodded in recognition of Cardon's +Literacy. + +"Over this way, sir," he said, guiding Cardon to his small cubicle +office. + +"Here." Cardon gave him the prescription. "Nitrocaine bulbs. They're +for Chester Pelton; he's had a serious heart attack. He needs these +with all speed. I don't suppose I need tell you how many kinds of hell +will break loose if he dies now and the Fraternities are accused, as +the Illiterates' Organization will be sure to, of having had him +poisoned." + +"Who are you?" the Literate asked, taking the prescription and +glancing at it. "That,"--he gestured toward Cardon's silver-laced +black Mexican jacket--"isn't exactly a white smock." + +Cardon had his pocket recorder in his hand. He held it out, pressing a +concealed stud; the stylus-and-tablet insignia glowed redly on it for +a moment, then vanished. The uniformed Literate nodded. + +"Fill this exactly; better do it yourself, to make sure, and take it +over to Pelton's yourself. I see you have a medic-trainee's badge. Ask +for Sergeant Coccozello, and tell him Frank Cardon sent you." The +Literate, who had not recognized him before, opened his eyes at the +name and whistled softly. "And fix up a sedative to keep him quiet +for not less than four nor more than six hours. Let me use your +visiphone for a while, if you please." + +The man in the Literate smock nodded and hurried out. Cardon dialed +William R. Lancedale's private number. When Lancedale's thin, intense +face appeared on the screen, he reported swiftly. + +"The way I estimate it," he finished, "Latterman put Bayne up to +making a pass at the girl, after having thrown out Pelton's nitrocaine +bulbs. Probably told the silly jerk that Claire was pining away with +secret passion for him, or something. Maybe he wanted to kill Pelton; +maybe he just wanted this to happen." + +"I assume there's no chance of stopping a leak?" + +Cardon laughed with mirthless harshness. "That, I take it, was +rhetorical." + +"Yes, of course." Lancedale's face assumed the blank expression that +went with a pause for semantic re-integration. "Can you cover yourself +for about an hour?" + +"Certainly. 'Copter trouble. Visits to campaign headquarters. An +appeal on Pelton's behalf for a new crew of Literates for the store--" + +"Good enough. Come over. I think I can see a way to turn this to +advantage. I'm going to call for an emergency session of the Grand +Council this afternoon, and I'll want you sitting in on it; I want to +talk to you about plans now." He considered for a moment. "There's +too much of a crowd at O'Reilly's, now; come the church way." + +Breaking the connection, Cardon dialed again. A girl's face, over a +Literate Third Class smock, appeared in the screen; a lovely golden +voice chimed at him: + +"Mineola High School; good morning, sir." + +"Good morning. Frank Cardon here. Let me talk, at once, to your +principal, Literate First Class Prestonby." + + * * * * * + +Ralph Prestonby cleared his throat, slipped a master disk into the +recording machine beside his desk, and pressed the start button. + +"Dear Parent or Guardian," he began. "Your daughter, now a third-year +student at this school, has reached the age of eligibility for the +Domestic Science course entitled, 'How To Win and Hold a Husband.' +Statistics show that girls who have completed this valuable course are +sooner, longer, and happier married than those who have not enjoyed +its advantages. We recommend it most highly. + +"However, because of the delicate nature of some of the visual +material used, your consent is required. You can attach such consent +to this disk by running it for at least ten seconds after the sign-off +and then switching from 'Play' to 'Transcribe.' Kindly include your +full name, as well as your daughter's, and place your thumbprint on +the opposite side of the disk. Very sincerely yours, Literate First +Class Ralph C. Prestonby, Principal." + +He put the master disk in an envelope, checked over a list of names +and addresses of parents and girl students, and put that in also. He +looked over the winter sports schedule, and signed and thumbprinted +it. Then he loaded the recorder with his morning's mail, switched to +"Play," and started it. As he listened, he blew smoke rings across the +room and toyed with a dagger, made from a file, which had been thrown +down the central light-well at him a few days before. The invention of +the pocket recorder, which put a half-hour's conversation on a +half-inch disk, had done more to slow down business and promote inane +correspondence than anything since the earlier inventions of +shorthand, typewriters and pretty stenographers. Finally, he cleared +the machine, dumping the whole mess into a basket and carrying it out +to his secretary. + +"Miss Collins, take this infernal rubbish and have a couple of the +girls divide it between them, play it off, and make a digest of it," +he said. "And here. The sports schedule, and this parental-consent +thing on the husband-trapping course. Have them taken care of." + +"This stuff," Martha Collins said, poking at the pile of letter disks. +"I suppose about half of it is threats, abuse and obscenities, and the +other half is from long-winded bores with idiotic suggestions and +ill-natured gripes. I'll use that old tag line, again--'hoping you +appreciate our brevity as much as we enjoyed yours--'" + +"Yes. That'll be all right." He looked at his watch. "I'm going to +make a personal building-tour, instead of using the TV. The animals +are sort of restless, today. The election; the infantile compulsion to +take sides. If you need me for anything urgent, don't use oral call. +Just flash my signal, red-blue-red-blue, on the hall and classroom +screens. Oh, Doug!" + +Yetsko, his length of rubber hose under his arm, ambled out of +Prestonby's private office, stopping to stub out his cigarette. The +action reminded Prestonby that he still had his pipe in his mouth; he +knocked it out and pocketed it. Together, they went into the hall +outside. + +"Where to, first, captain?" Yetsko wanted to know. + +"Cloak-and-Dagger Department, on the top floor. Then we'll drop down +to the shops, and then up through Domestic Science and Business and +General Arts." + +"And back here. We hope," Yetsko finished. + + * * * * * + +They took a service elevator to the top floor, emerging into a +stockroom piled with boxes and crates and cases of sound records and +cans of film and stacks of picture cards, and all the other +impedimenta of Illiterate education. Passing through it to the other +end, Prestonby unlocked a door, and they went down a short hall, to +where ten or fifteen boys and girls had just gotten off a helical +escalator and were queued up at a door at the other end. There were +two Literate guards in black leather, and a student-monitor, with his +white belt and rubber truncheon, outside the door. + +Prestonby swore under his breath. He'd hoped they'd miss this, but +since they hadn't, there was nothing for it but to fall in at the tail +of the queue. One by one, the boys and girls went up, spoke briefly to +the guards and the student-monitor, and were passed through the door, +Each time, one of the guards had to open it with a key. Finally, it +was Prestonby's turn. + +"B, D, F, H, J, L, N, P, R, T, V, X, Y," he recited to the guardians +of the door. + +"A, C, E, G, I, K, M, O, Q, S, U, W, Y," the monitor replied solemnly. +"The inkwell is dry, and the book is dusty." + +"But tomorrow, there will be writing and reading for all," Prestonby +answered. + +The guard with the key unlocked the door, and he and Yetsko went +through, into an utterly silent sound-proofed room, and from it into +an inner, noisy, room, where a recorded voice was chanting: + +"Hat--_huh-ah-tuh._ H-a-t. Box--_buh-oh-ksss_. B-o-x. +Gun--_guh-uh-nnn_. G-u-n. Girl--_guh-ih-rrr-lll_," while pictures were +flashed on a screen at the front, and words appeared under them. + +There were about twenty boys and girls, of the freshman-year +age-bracket at desk-seats, facing the screen. They'd started learning +the alphabet when school had opened in September; now they had gotten +as far as combining letters into simple words. In another month, +they'd be as far as diphthongs and would be initiated into the +mysteries of silent letters. Maybe sooner than that; he was finding +that children who had not been taught to read until their twelfth year +learned much more rapidly than the primary grade children in the +Literate schools. + +What he was doing here wasn't exactly illegal. It wasn't even against +the strict letter of Fraternity regulations. But it had to be done +clandestinely. What he'd have liked to have done would have been to +have given every boy and girl in English I the same instruction this +selected group was getting, but that would have been out of the +question. The public would never have stood for it; the police would +have had to intervene to prevent a riotous mob of Illiterates from +tearing the school down brick by brick, and even if that didn't +happen, the ensuing uproar inside the Fraternity would have blown the +roof off Literates' Hall. Even Lancedale couldn't have survived such +an explosion, and the body of Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby +would have been found in a vacant lot the next morning. Even many of +Lancedale's supporters would have turned on him in anger at this +sudden blow to the Fraternities' monopoly of the printed Word. + +So it had to be kept secret, and since adolescents in possession of a +secret are under constant temptation to hint mysteriously in the +presence of outsiders, this hocus-pocus of ritual and password and +countersign had to be resorted to. He'd been in conspiratorial work of +other kinds, and knew that there was a sound psychological basis for +most of what seemed, at first glance, to be mere melodramatic +claptrap. + +He and Yetsko passed on through a door across the room, into another +sound-proofed room. The work of soundproofing and partitioning the old +stockroom had been done in the last semester of his first year at +Mineola High, by members of the graduating class of building-trades +students, who had then gone their several ways convinced that they had +been working on a set of music-class practice rooms. The Board of +Education had never even found out about it. In this second room, a +Literate teacher, one of the Lancedale faction, had a reading class of +twenty-five or thirty. A girl was on her feet, with a book in her +hand, reading from it: + + "We are not sure of sorrow; + And joy was never sure; + Today will die tomorrow; + Time stoops to no man's lure; + And love, grown faint and fretful + With lips but half regretful + Sighs, and with eyes forgetful + Weeps that no loves endure." + +Then she handed the book--it was the only copy--to the boy sitting in +front of her, and he rose to read the next verse. Prestonby, catching +the teacher's eye, nodded and smiled. This was a third-year class, of +course, but from h-a-t spells hat to Swinburne in three years was good +work. + +There were three other classes, a total of little over a hundred +students. There was no trouble; they were there for one purpose +only--to learn. He spoke with one of the teachers, whose class was +busy with a written exercise; he talked for a while to another whose +only duty at the moment was to answer questions and furnish help to a +small class who were reading silently from a variety of smuggled-in +volumes. + +"Only a hundred and twenty, out of five thousand," Yetsko said to him, +as they were dropping down in the elevator by which they had come. +"Think you'll ever really get anything done with them?" + +"I won't. Maybe they won't," he replied. "But the ones they'll teach +will. They're just a cadre; it'll take fifty years before the effects +are really felt. But some day--" + +The shops--a good half of the school was trades-training--were noisy +and busy. Here Prestonby kept his hand on his gas-projector, and +Yetsko had his rubber hose ready, either to strike or to discard in +favor of his pistol. The instructors were similarly on the alert and +ready for trouble--he had seen penitentiaries where the guards took it +easier. Carpentry and building trades. Machine shop. Welding. 'Copter +and TV repair shops--he made a minor and relatively honest graft +there, from the sale of rebuilt equipment. Even an atomic-equipment +shop, though there was nothing in the place that would excite a Geiger +more than the instructor's luminous-dial watch. + +Domestic Science--Home Decorating, Home Handicrafts, Use of Home +Appliances, Beautician School, Charm School. He and Yetsko sampled the +products of the Cooking School, intended for the cafeteria, and found +them edible if uninspired. + +Business--classes in recording letters, using Illiterate +business-machines, preparing Illiterate cards for same, filing +recordings--always with the counsel, "When in doubt, consult a +Literate." + +General Arts--Spanish and French, from elaborate record players, the +progeny of the old Twentieth Century Linguaphone. English, with +recorded-speech composition, enunciation training, semantics, and what +Prestonby called English Illiterature. The class he visited was +drowsing through one of the less colorful sections of "Gone With The +Wind." World History, with half the students frankly asleep through an +audio-visual on the Feudal System, with planted hints on how nice a +revival of same would be, and identifying the clergy of the Middle +Ages with the Fraternities of Literates. American History, with the +class wide awake, since Custer's Massacre was obviously only moments +away. + +"Wantta bet one of those little cherubs doesn't try to scalp another +before the day's out?" Yetsko whispered. + +Prestonby shook his head. "No bet. Remember that film on the Spanish +Inquisition, that we had to discontinue?" + +It was then that the light on the classroom screen, which had been +flickering green and white, suddenly began flashing Prestonby's +wanted-at-office signal. + + * * * * * + +Prestonby found Frank Cardon looking out of the screen in his private +office. The round, ordinarily cheerful, face was serious, but the +innocent blue eyes were as unreadable as ever. He was wearing one of +the new Mexican _charro_-style jackets, black laced with silver. + +"I can't see all your office, Ralph," he said as Prestonby approached. +"Are you alone?" + +"Doug Yetsko's all," Prestonby said, and, as Cardon hesitated, added: +"Don't be silly, Frank; he's my bodyguard. What could I be in that he +wouldn't know all about?" + +Cardon nodded. "Well, we're in a jam up to here." A handwave conveyed +the impression that the sea of troubles had risen to his chin. He +spoke at some length, describing the fight between Chester Pelton and +Stephen S. Bayne, the Literate strike at Pelton's Purchasers' +Paradise, Pelton's heart attack, and the circumstances of Claire's +opening the safe. "So you see," he finished. "Maybe Latterman tried to +kill Pelton, maybe he just tried to do what he did. I can't take +chances either way." + +Prestonby thought furiously. "You say Claire's alone at the store with +her father?" + +"And a couple of store cops, sterling characters with the hearts of +lions and the brains of goldfish," Cardon replied. "And Russ +Latterman, and maybe four or five Conservative goons he's managed to +infiltrate into the store." + +Prestonby was still thinking, aloud, now. "Maybe they did mean to kill +Pelton; in that case, they'll try again. Or maybe they only wanted to +expose Claire's literacy. It's hard to say what else they'd try--maybe +kidnap her, to truth-drug her and use her as a guest-artist on a +Conservative telecast. I'm going over to the store, now." + +"That's a good idea, Ralph. If you hadn't thought of it, I was going +to suggest it. Land on the central stage, ask for Sergeant Coccozello +of the store police, and give my name. Even aside from everything +else, it'd be a good idea to have somebody there who can read and +dares admit it, till a new crew of Literates can get there. You were +speaking about the possibility of kidnaping; how about the boy? Ray?" + +Prestonby nodded. "I'll have him come here to my office, and stay +there till I get back; I'll have Yetsko stay with him." He turned to +where the big man in black leather stood guard at the door. "Doug, go +get Ray Pelton and bring him here. Check with Miss Collins for where +he'd be, now." He turned back to the screen. "Anything else, Frank?" + +"Isn't that enough?" the brewer-Literate demanded. "I'll call you at +the store, after a while. 'Bye." + +The screen darkened as Cardon broke the connection. Prestonby got to +his feet, went to his desk, and picked up a pipe, digging out the +ashes from the bowl with an ice pick that one of the teachers had +taken from a sixteen-year-old would-be murderer. He checked his tablet +gun, made sure that there was an extra loaded clip in the holster, and +got two more spare clips from the arms locker. Then, to make sure, he +called Pelton's store, talking for a while to the police sergeant +Cardon had mentioned. By the time he was finished, the door opened and +Yetsko ushered Ray Pelton in. + +"What's happened?" the boy asked. "Doug told me that the Senator ... +my father ... had another heart attack." + +"Yes, Ray. I don't believe he's in any great danger. He's at the +store, resting in his office." He went on to tell the boy what had +happened, exactly and in full detail. He was only fifteen, but +already he had completed the four-year reading course and he could +think a great deal more logically than seventy per cent of the people +who were legally entitled to vote. Ray listened seriously, and proved +Prestonby's confidence justified by nodding. + +"Frame-up," he said succinctly. "Stinks like a glue factory of a +put-up job. Something's going to happen to Russ Latterman, one of +these days." + +"I think you'd better let Frank Cardon take care of him, Ray," +Prestonby advised. "I think there are more angles to this than he told +me. Now, I'm going over to the store. Somebody's got to stay with +Claire. I want you to stay here, in this room. If anybody sends you +any message supposed to be from me, just ignore it. It'll be a trap. +If I want to get in touch with you, I'll call you, with vision-image." + +"Mean somebody might try to kidnap me, or Claire, to force the Senator +to withdraw, or something?" Ray asked, his eyes widening. + +"You catch on quickly, Ray," Prestonby commended him. "Doug, you stay +with Ray till I get back. Don't let him out of your sight for an +instant. At noon, have Miss Collins get lunches for both of you sent +up; if I'm not back by fifteen-hundred, take him to his home, and stay +with him there." + + * * * * * + +[Illustration:] + +For half an hour, Frank Cardon made a flying tour of +Radical-Socialist borough headquarters. Even at the Manhattan +headquarters, which he visited immediately after his talk with +Prestonby, the news had already gotten out. The atmosphere of +optimistic triumph which had undoubtedly followed Mongery's telecast +and his report on the Trotter Poll, had evaporated. The Literate +clerical help was gathered in a tight knot, obviously a little +worried, and just as obviously enjoying the reaction. In smaller and +constantly changing groups, the volunteers, the paid helpers, the +dirt-squirters, the goon gangs, gathered, talking in worried or +frightened or angry voices. When Cardon entered and was recognized, +there was a concerted movement toward him. His two regular bodyguards, +both on leave from the Literate storm troops, moved quickly to range +themselves on either side of him. With a gesture, he halted the +others. + +"Hold it!" he called. "I know what you're worried about. I was there +when it happened, and saw everything." + +He paused, to let them assimilate that, and continued: "Now get this, all +of you! Our boss, and--_if he lives_--our next senator, was the victim of +a deliberate murder attempt, by Literate First Class Bayne, who threw out +his supply of nitrocaine bulbs and then goaded him into a heart attack +which, except for his daughter, would have been fatal. Claire Pelton +deserves the deepest gratitude of every Radical-Socialist in the state. +She's a smart girl, and she saved the life of her father and our leader. + +"But--she is _not_ a Literate!" he cried loudly. "All she did was +something any of you could have done--something I've done, myself, so +that I won't be locked out of my own safe and have to wait for a +Literate to come and open, it for me. She simply kept her eye on the +Literates who were opening the safe, and learned the combination from +the positions to which they turned the dial. And you believe, on the +strength of that, that she's a Literate? The next thing, you'll be +believing that professional liar of a Slade Gardner. And you call +yourselves politicians!" He fairly gargled obscenities. + +Looking around, he caught sight of a pair who seemed something less +than impressed with his account of it. Joe West, thick-armed, +hairy-chested, blue-jowled; Horace Yingling, thin and gangling. They +weren't Radical-Socialist party people; they were from the Political +Action Committee of the Consolidated Illiterates Organization, and +their slogan was simpler and more to the point than Chester +Pelton's--the only good Literate is a dead Literate. He tensed himself +and challenged them directly. + +"Joe; Horace. How about you? Satisfied the Pelton girl isn't a +Literate, now?" + +Yingling looked at West, and West looked back at him questioningly. +Evidently the _suavitor in modo_ was Yingling's province, and the +_fortior in re_ was West's. + +"Yeh, sure, Mr. Cardon," Yingling said dubiously. "Now that you +explain it, we see how it was." + + * * * * * + +It was worse than that in some of the other boroughs. One fanatic, +imagining that Cardon himself was a crypto-Literate, drew a gun. +Cardon's guards disarmed him and beat him senseless. At another +headquarters, some character was circulating about declaring that not +only Claire Pelton but her younger brother, Ray, as well, were +Literates. Cardon's two men hustled him out of the building, and, +after about twenty minutes, returned alone. Cardon hoped that the body +would not be found until after the polls closed, the next day. + +Finally, leaving his guards with the 'copter at a public landing +stage, he made his way, by devious routes, to William R. Lancedale's +office, and found Lancedale at his desk, seeming not to have moved +since he had showed his agent out earlier in the day. + +"Well, we're in a nice puddle of something-or-other," Cardon greeted +him. "On top of that Gardner telecast, this morning--" + +"Guthrie Parham's taking care of that, and everything's going to be +done to ridicule Gardner," Lancedale told him. "And even this business +at the store can be turned to some advantage. Before we're through, we +may gain more votes than we lose for Pelton. And we had an informal +meeting--Joyner for Retail Merchandising, Starke for Grievance +Settlements, and four or five others including myself, to make up a +quorum. We had Bayne in, and heard his story of it, and we got a +report from one of our stoolies in the store. Bayne thought he was +due for a commendation; instead, he got an eat-out. Of course, it was +a fact that Pelton'd hit him, and we can't have Literates punched +around, regardless of provocation. So we voted to fine Pelton ten +million for beating Bayne up, and to award him ten million for losses +resulting from unauthorized withdrawal of Literate services. We +ordered a new crew of Literates to the store, and we exiled Bayne to +Brooklyn, to something called Stillman's Used Copter and Junk Bazaar. +For the next few months, the only thing he'll find that's round and +pinchable will be second-hand tires. But don't be too hard on him; I +think he did us a favor." + +"You mean, starting a rift between Pelton and the Consolidated +Illiterates' Organization, which we can widen after the election?" + +"No. I hadn't thought of it that way, Frank," Lancedale smiled. "It's +an idea worth keeping in mind, and we'll exploit it, later. What I was +thinking about was the more immediate problem of the election--" + +The buzzer on Lancedale's desk interrupted, and a voice came out of +the commo box: + +"Message, urgent and private, sir. Source named as Sforza." + +Cardon recognized the name. Maybe the Independent-Conservatives have +troubles, too, he thought hopefully. Then Lancedale's video screen +became the frame for an almost unbelievably commonplace set of +features. + +"Sforza, sir," the man in the screen said. "Sorry I'm late, but I was +able to get out of the building only a few minutes ago, and I had to +make sure I wasn't wearing a tail. I have two new facts. First, the +Conservatives have been bringing storm troops in from outside, from +Philadelphia, and from Wilkes-Scranton, and from Buffalo. They are +being concentrated in lower Manhattan, in plain clothes, with only +concealed weapons, and carrying their hoods folded up under their +coats. Second, I overheard a few snatches of conversation between two +of the Conservative storm troop leaders, as follows: '... Start it in +China ... thirteen-thirty,' and '... Important to make it appear +either spontaneous or planned for business motives.'" + +"Try to get us more information, as quickly as possible," Lancedale +directed. "Obviously, we should know, by about thirteen hundred, +what's being planned." + +"Right, sir." Lancedale's spy at Independent-Conservative headquarters +nodded and vanished from the screen. + +"What does it sound like to you, Frank?" Lancedale asked. + +"China is obviously a code-designation for some place in downtown +Manhattan, where the Conservative goon gangs are being concentrated. +The only thing I can say is that it probably is not Chinatown. They'd +either say 'Chinatown' and not 'China,' or they would use some +code-designation that wasn't so close to the actual name," Cardon +considered. "What they're going to start, at thirteen-thirty, which is +only two hours and a half from now, is probably some kind of a riot." + +"A riot which could arise from business motives," Lancedale added. +"That sounds like the docks, or the wholesale district, or the garment +district, or something like that." He passed his hand rapidly over the +photoelectric eye of the commo box. "Get me Major Slater," he said; +and, a little later, "Major, get a platoon out to Long Island, to +Chester Pelton's home; have the place searched for possible booby +traps, and maintain guard there till further notice. You'll have no +trouble with the servants, they're all in our pay. That platoon must +not, repeat not, wear uniform or appear to have any connection with +the Fraternities. Put another platoon in Pelton's store. Concealed +weapons, and plain clothes. They should carry their leather helmets in +shopping bags, and roam about in the store, ostensibly shopping. And a +full company, uniformed and armed with heavy weapons, alerted and +ready for immediate 'copter movement." He went on to explain about the +intelligence report and the conclusions drawn from it. The guards +officer repeated back his instructions, and Lancedale broke the +connection. + +"Now, Frank," he said, "I told you that this revelation of Claire +Pelton's Literacy can be turned to our advantage. There's to be a full +Council meeting at thirteen hundred. Here's what I estimate Joyner and +Graves will try to do, and here's what I'm going to do to counter +it--" + + * * * * * + +A couple of men in the maroon uniform of Pelton's store police were +waiting as Prestonby's 'copter landed on the top stage; one of them +touched his cap-visor with his gas-billy in salute and said: "Literate +Prestonby? Miss Pelton is expecting you; she's in her father's office. +This way, if you please, sir." + +He had hoped to find her alone, but when he entered the office, he saw +five or six of the store personnel with her. Since opening her +father's safe, she had evidently dropped all pretense of Illiteracy; +there was a mass of papers spread on the big desk, and she was +referring from one to another of them with the deft skill of a regular +Fraternities Literate, while the others watched in fascinated horror. + +"Wait a moment, Mr. Hutschnecker," she told the white-haired man in +the blue and orange business suit with whom she had been talking, and +laid the printed price-schedule down, advancing to meet him. + +"Ralph!" she greeted him. "Frank Cardon told me you were coming. I--" + +For a moment, he thought of the afternoon, over two years ago, when +she had entered his office at the school, and he had recognized her as +the older sister of young Ray Pelton. + +"Professor Prestonby," she had begun, accusingly, "you have been +teaching my brother, Raymond Pelton, to read!" + +He had been prepared for that; had known that sooner or later there +would be some minor leak in the security screen around the classrooms +on the top floor. + +"My dear Miss Pelton," he had protested pleasantly. "I think you've +become overwrought over nothing. This pretense to Literacy is a phase +most boys of Ray's age pass through; they do it just as they play +air-pirates or hi-jackers a few years earlier. The usual trick is to +memorize something heard from a record disk, and then pretend to read +it from print." + +"Don't try to kid me, professor. I know that Ray can read. I can prove +it." + +"And supposing he has learned a few words," he had parried. "Can you +be sure I taught him? And if so, what had you thought of doing about +it? Are you going to expose me as a corrupter of youth?" + +"Not unless I have to," she had replied coolly. "I'm going to +blackmail you, professor. I want you to teach me to read, too." + +Now, with this gang of her father's Illiterate store officials +present, a quick handclasp and a glance were all they could exchange. + +"How is he, Claire?" he asked. + +"Out of danger, for the present. There was a medic here, who left just +before you arrived. He brought nitrocaine bulbs, and gave father +something to make him sleep. He's lying down, back in his rest room." +She led him to a door at the rear of the office and motioned him to +enter, following him. "He's going to sleep for a couple of hours, +yet." + +The room was a sort of bedroom and dressing room, with a miniscule +toilet and shower beyond. Pelton was lying on his back, sleeping; his +face was pale, but he was breathing easily and regularly. Two of the +store policemen, a sergeant and a patrolman, were playing cards on the +little table, and the patrolman had a burp gun within reach. + +"All right, sergeant," Claire said. "You and Gorman go out to the +office. Call me if anything comes up that needs my attention, in the +next few minutes." + +The sergeant started to protest. Claire cut him off. + +"There's no danger here. This Literate can be trusted; he's a friend +of Mr. Cardon's. Works at the brewery. It's all right." + +The two rose and went out, leaving the door barely ajar. Prestonby and +Claire, like a pair of marionettes on the same set of strings, cast a +quick glance at the door and then were in each other's arms. Chester +Pelton slept placidly as they kissed and whispered endearments. + +It was Claire who terminated the embrace, looking apprehensively at +her slumbering father. + +"Ralph, what's it all about?" she asked. "I didn't even know that you +and Frank Cardon knew each other, let alone that he had any idea about +us." + +Prestonby thought furiously, trying to find a safe path through the +tangle of Claire Pelton's conflicting loyalties, trying to find a path +between his own loyalties and his love for her, wondering how much it +would be safe to tell her. + +"And Cardon's gone completely cloak-and-dagger-happy," she continued. +"He's talking about plots against my father's life, and against me, +and--" + +"A lot of things are going on under cloaks, around here," he told her. +"And under Literate smocks, and under other kinds of costume. And a +lot of daggers are out, too. You didn't know Frank Cardon was a +Literate, did you?" + +Her eyes widened. "I thought I was Literate enough to spot Literacy in +anybody else," she said. "No, I never even suspected--" + +Somebody rapped on the door. "Miss Pelton," the sergeant's voice +called. "Visiphone call from Literates' Hall." + +Prestonby smiled. "I'll take it, if you don't mind," he said. "I'm +acting-chief-Literate here, now, I suppose." + +She followed him as he went out into Pelton's office. When he snapped +on the screen, a young man in a white smock, with the Fraternities +Executive Section badge, looked out of it. He gave a slight start when +he saw Prestonby. + +"Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby, acting voluntarily for +Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise during emergency," he said. + +"Literate First Class Armandez, Executive Section," the man in the +screen replied. "This call is in connection with the recent attack of +Chester Pelton upon Literate First Class Bayne." + +"Continue, understanding that we admit nothing," Prestonby told him. + +"An extemporary session of the Council has found Pelton guilty of +assaulting Literate Bayne, and has fined him ten million dollars," +Armandez announced. + +"We enter protest," Prestonby replied automatically. + +"Wait a moment, Literate. The Council has also awarded Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise damages to the extent of ten million dollars, for +losses incurred by suspension of Literate service, and voted censure +against Literate Bayne for ordering said suspension without consent of +the Council. Furthermore, a new crew of Literates, with their novices, +guards, et cetera, is being sent at once to your store. Obviously, +neither the Fraternities, nor Pelton's, nor the public, would be +benefitted by returning Literate Bayne or any of his crew; he has been +given another assignment." + +"Thank you. And when can we expect this new crew of Literates?" +Prestonby asked. + +The man in the screen consulted his watch. "Probably inside of an +hour. We've had to do some re-shuffling; you know how these things are +handled. And if you'll pardon me, Literate; just what are you doing at +Pelton's? I understood that you were principal of Mineola High +School." + +"That's a good question." Prestonby hastily assessed the circumstances +and their implications. "I'd suggest that you ask it of my superior, +Literate Lancedale, however." + +The Literate in the screen blinked; that was the equivalent, for him, +of anybody else's jaw dropping to his midriff. + +"Well! A pleasure, Literate. Good day." + + * * * * * + +"Miss Pelton!" The man in the blue-and-orange suit was still trying to +catch her attention. "Where are we going to put that stuff? Russ +Latterman's out in the store, somewhere, and I can't get in touch with +him." + +"What did you say it was?" she replied. + +"Fireworks, for the Peace Day trade. We want to get it on sale about +the middle of the month." + +"This was a fine time to deliver them. Peace Day isn't till the Tenth +of December. Put them down in the fireproof vault." + +"That place is full of photographic film, and sporting ammunition, and +other merchandise; stuff we'll have to draw out to replace stock on +the shelves during the sale," the Illiterate objected. + +"The weather forecast for the next couple of days is fair," Prestonby +reminded her. "Why not just pile the stuff on the top stage, beyond +the control tower, and put up warning signs?" + +The man--Hutschnecker, Prestonby remembered hearing Claire call +him--nodded. + +"That might be all right. We could cover the cases with tarpaulins." + +A buzzer drew one of the Illiterates to a handphone. He listened for a +moment, and turned. + +"Hey, there's a Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz down in Furs; she wants to +buy one of those mutated-mink coats, and she's only got half a million +bucks with her. How's her credit?" + +Claire handed Prestonby a black-bound book. "Confidential +credit-rating guide; look her up for us," she said. + +Another buzzer rasped, before Prestonby could find the entry on +Zydanowycz, H. Armytage; the Illiterate office worker, laying down one +phone, grabbed up another. + +"They're all outta small money in Notions; every son and his brother's +been in there in the last hour to buy a pair of dollar shoestrings +with a grand-note." + +"I'll take care of that," Hutschnecker said. "Wait till I call control +tower, and tell them about the fireworks." + +"How much does Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz want credit for?" Prestonby +asked. "The book says her husband's good for up to fifteen million, or +fifty million in thirty days." + +"Those coats are only five million," Claire said. "Let her have it; be +sure to get her thumbprint, though, and send it up here for +comparison." + +"Oh, Claire; do you know how we're going to handle this new Literate +crew, when they get here?" + +"Yes, here's the TO for Literate service." She tossed a big chart +across the desk to him. "I made a few notes on it; you can give it to +whoever is in charge." + + * * * * * + +It went on, like that, for the next hour. When the new Literate crew +arrived, Prestonby was delighted to find a friend, and a +fellow-follower of Lancedale, in charge. Considering that Retail +Merchandising was Wilton Joyner's section, that was a good omen. +Lancedale must have succeeded to an extraordinary degree in imposing +his will on the Grand Council. Prestonby found, however, that he +would need some time to brief the new chief Literate on the +operational details at the store. He was unwilling to bring Claire too +prominently into the conference, although he realized that it would be +a matter of half an hour, at the outside, before every one of the new +Literate crew would have heard about her Literate ability. If she'd +only played dumb, after opening that safe-- + +Finally, by 1300, the new Literates had taken over, and the sale was +running smoothly again. Latterman was somewhere out in the store, +helping them; Claire had lunch for herself and Prestonby sent up from +the restaurant, and for a while they ate in silence, broken by +occasional spatters of small-talk. Then she returned to the question +she had raised and he had not yet answered. + +"You say Frank Cardon's a Literate?" she asked. "Then what's he doing +managing the Senator's campaign? Fifth-columning?" + +He shook his head. "You think the Fraternities are a solid, +monolithic, organization; everybody agreed on aims and means, and +working together in harmony? That's how it's supposed to look, from +the outside. On the inside, though, there's a bitter struggle going on +between two factions, over policy and for control. One faction wants +to maintain the _status quo_--a handful of Literates doing the reading +and writing for an Illiterate public, and holding a monopoly on +Literacy. They're headed by two men, Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves. +Bayne was one of that faction." + +He paused, thinking quickly. If Lancedale had gotten the upper hand, +there was likely to be a revision of the Joyner-Graves attitude toward +Pelton. In that case, the less he said to incriminate Russell +Latterman, the better. Let Bayne be the villain, for a while, he +decided. + +"Bayne," he continued, "is one of a small minority of fanatics who +make a religion of Literacy. I believe he disposed of your father's +medicine, and then deliberately goaded him into a rage to bring on a +heart attack. That doesn't represent Joyner-Graves policy; it was just +something he did on his own. He's probably been disciplined for it, by +now. But the Joyner-Graves faction are working for your father's +defeat and the re-election of Grant Hamilton. + +"The other faction is headed by a man you've probably never heard of, +William R. Lancedale. I'm of his faction, and so is Frank Cardon. We +want to see your father elected, because the socialization of Literacy +would eventually put the Literates in complete control of the +government. We also want to see Literacy become widespread, eventually +universal, just as it was before World War IV." + +"But Wouldn't that mean the end of the Fraternities?" Claire asked. + +"That's what Joyner and Graves say. We don't believe so. And suppose +it did? Lancedale says, if we're so incompetent that we have to keep +the rest of the world in ignorance to earn a living, the world's +better off without us. He says that every oligarchy carries in it the +seeds of its own destruction; that if we can't evolve with the rest of +the world, we're doomed in any case. That's why we want to elect your +father. If he can get his socialized Literacy program adopted, we'll +be in a position to load the public with so many controls and +restrictions and formalities that even the most bigoted Illiterate +will want to learn to read. Lancedale says, a private monopoly like +ours is bad, but a government monopoly is intolerable, and the only +way the public can get rid of it would be by becoming Literates, +themselves." + +She glanced toward the door of Pelton's private rest room. + +"Poor Senator!" she said softly. "He hates Literacy so, and his own +children are Literates, and his program against Literacy is being +twisted against itself!" + +"But you agree that we're right and he's wrong?" Prestonby asked. "You +must, or you'd never have come to me to learn to read." + +"He's such a good father. I'd hate to see him hurt," she said. "But, +Ralph, you're my man. Anything you're for, I'm for, and anything +you're against, I'm against." + +He caught her hand, across the table, forgetful of the others in the +office. + +"Claire, now that everybody knows--" he began. + + * * * * * + +"_Top emergency! Top emergency!_" a voice brayed out of the alarm box +on the wall. "_Serious disorder in Department Thirty-two! Serious +disorder in Department Thirty-two!_" + +The voice broke off as suddenly as it had begun, but the box was not +silent. From it came a medley of shouts, curses, feminine screams and +splintering crashes. Prestonby and Claire were on their feet. + +"You have wall screens?" he asked. "How do they work? Like the ones at +school?" + +Claire twisted a knob until the number 32 appeared on a dial, and +pressed a button. On the screen, the Chinaware Department on the third +floor came to life in full sound and color. The pickup must have been +across an aisle from the box from whence the alarm had come; they +could see one of Pelton's Illiterate clerks lying unconscious under +it, and the handphone dangling at the end of its cord. The aisles were +full of jostling, screaming women, trampling one another and fighting +frantically to get out, and, among them, groups of three or four men +were gathered back to back. One such group had caught a store +policeman; three were holding him while a fourth smashed vases over +his head, grabbing them from a nearby counter. A pink dinner plate +came skimming up from the crowd, narrowly missing the wired TV pickup. +A moment later, a blue-and-white sugar bowl, thrown with better aim, +came curving at them in the screen. It scored a hit, and brought +darkness, though the bedlam of sound continued. + +[Illustration:] + +[Illustration:] + +Cardon looked at his watch as he entered the Council Chamber at +Literates' Hall, smoothing his smock hastily under his Sam Browne. +He'd made it with very little time to spare, before the doors would be +sealed and the meeting would begin. He'd been all over town, tracking +down that report of Sforza's; he'd even made a quick visit to +Chinatown, on the off chance that "China" had been used in an attempt +at the double concealment of the obvious, but, as he'd expected, he'd +found nothing. The people there hardly knew there was to be an +election. Accustomed for millennia to ideographs read only by experts, +they viewed the current uproar about Literacy with unconcern. + +At the door, he deposited his pocket recorder--no sound-recording +device was permitted, except the big audio-visual camera in front, +which made the single permanent record. Going around the room +counterclockwise to the seats of his faction, he encountered two other +Lancedale men: Gerald K. Toppington, of the Technological Section, +thin-faced, sandy-haired, balding; and Franklin R. Chernov, commander +of the local Literates' guards brigade, with his ragged gray mustache, +his horribly scarred face, and his outsize tablet-holster almost as +big as a mail-order catalogue. + +"What's Joyner-Graves trying to do to us, Frank?" Chernov rumbled +gutturally. + +"It's what we're going to do to them," Cardon replied. "Didn't the +chief tell you?" + +Chernov shook his head. "No time. I only got here fifteen minutes ago. +Chasing all over town about that tip from Sforza. Nothing, of course. +Nothing from Sforza, either. The thing must have been planned weeks +ago, whatever it is, and everybody briefed personally, and nothing on +disk or tape about it. But what's going to happen here? Lancedale +going to pull a rabbit out of his hat?" + +Cardon explained. Chernov whistled. "Man, that's no rabbit; that's a +full-grown Bengal tiger! I hope it doesn't eat us, by mistake." + +Cardon looked around, saw Lancedale in animated argument with a group +of his associates. Some of the others seemed to be sharing Chernov's +fears. + +"I have every confidence in the chief," Toppington said. "If his +tigers make a meal off anybody, it'll be--" He nodded in the direction +of the other side of the chamber, where Wilton Joyner, short, bald, +pompous, and Harvey Graves, tall and cadaverous, stood in a +Rosencrantz-Guildenstern attitude, surrounded by half a dozen of their +top associates. + +The Council President, Morehead, came out a little door onto the +rostrum and took his seat, pressing a button. The call bell began +clanging slowly. Lancedale, glancing around, saw Cardon and nodded. On +both sides of the chamber, the Literates began taking seats, and +finally the call bell stopped, and Literate President Morehead rapped +with his gavel. The opening formalities were hustled through. The +routine held-over business was rubber-stamped with hasty votes of +approval, even including the decisions of the extemporary meeting of +that morning on the affair at Pelton's. Finally, the presiding officer +rapped again and announced that the meeting was now open for new +business. + +At once, Harvey Graves was on his feet. + +"Literate President," he began, as soon as the chair had recognized +him, "this is scarcely _new_ business, since it concerns a problem, a +most serious problem, which I and some of my colleagues have brought +to the attention of this Council many times in the past--the problem +of Black Literacy!" He spat out the two words as though they were a +mouthful of poison. "Literate President and fellow Literates, if +anything could destroy our Fraternities, to which we have given our +lives' devotion, it would be the widespread tendency to by-pass the +Fraternities, the practice of Literacy by non-Fraternities people--" + +"We've heard all that before, Wilton!" somebody from the Lancedale +side called out. "What do you want to talk about that you haven't +gotten on every record of every meeting for the last thirty years?" + +"Why, this Pelton business," Graves snapped back at him. "You know +what I mean. Your own associates are responsible for it!" He turned +back to face the chair, and, with a surprising minimum of invective, +described the scene in which Claire Pelton had demonstrated her +Literacy. "And that's not all, brother Literates," he continued. +"Since then, I've been receiving reports from the Pelton store. Claire +Pelton has been openly doing the work of a Literate; going over the +store's written records, checking inventories, checking the credit +guide, handling the price lists--" + +"What's that got to do with Black Literacy?" Gerald Toppington +demanded. "Black Literacy is a term which labels the professional +practice of Literacy, for hire, by a non-Fraternity Literate, or +Literate service furnished for criminal or politically subversive +purposes, or the betrayal of a client by a Fraternity Literate. +There's nothing of the sort involved here. This girl, who does appear +to be Literate, is simply looking after the interests of her family's +business." + +"She was taught by a Literate, a Fraternities-member, under, to say +the very least, irregular circumstances, and without payment of any +fee. Any fee, that is, that the Fraternities can collect any +percentage on. And the Literate who taught her also taught her younger +brother, Ray Pelton, and this Literate, who is known to be her +lover--" + +"Suppose he is her lover, so what?" one of Lancedale's partisans +demanded. "You say, yourself, that she's a Literate. That ought to +remove any objection. Why, if she were to come forward and admit and +demonstrate her Literacy, there'd be no possible objection from the +Fraternities' viewpoint to her marrying young Prestonby." + +"And as for Prestonby's action in teaching Literacy to her and to her +brother," Cardon spoke up, "I think he deserves the thanks and +commendation of the Fraternities. He's put a period to four +generations of bigoted Illiterates." + +Wilton Joyner was on his feet. "Will Literate Graves yield for a +motion?" he asked. "Thank you, Harvey. Literate President, and brother +Literates: I yield to no man in my abhorrence of Black Literacy, or in +my detestation for the political principles of which Chester Pelton +has made himself the spokesman, but I deny that we should allow the +acts and opinions of the Illiterate parent to sway us in our +consideration of the Literate children. It has come to my notice, as +it has to Literate Graves', that this young woman, Claire Pelton, is +Literate to a degree that would be a credit to any Literate First +Class, and her brother can match his Literacy creditably against that +of any novice in our Fraternities. To show that we respect Literate +ability, wherever we find it; to show that we are not the monopolistic +closed-corporation our enemies accuse us of being; to show that we are +not animated by a vindictive hatred of anything bearing the name of +Pelton--I move, and ask that my motion be presented for seconding, +that Claire Pelton, and her brother, Raymond Pelton, be duly elected, +respectively, to the positions of Literate Third Class and Literate +Novice, as members of the Associated Fraternities of Literates!" + +From the Joyner-Graves side, there were dutiful cries of, "Yes! Yes! +Admit the young Peltons!" and also gasps of horrified surprise from +the rank-and-filers who hadn't been briefed on what was coming up. + +Lancedale was on his feet in an instant. "Literate President!" he +cried. "In view of the delicate political situation, and in view of +Chester Pelton's violent denunciation of our Fraternities--" + +"Literate Lancedale," the President objected. "The motion is not to be +debated until it has been properly seconded." + +"What does the Literate President think I'm doing?" Lancedale +retorted. "I second the motion!" + +Joyner looked at Lancedale in angry surprise, which gradually became +fearful suspicion. His stooge, who had already risen with a prepared +speech of seconding, simply gaped. + +"Furthermore," Lancedale continued, "I move an amendment to Literate +Joyner's motion. I move that the ceremony of the administration of the +Literates' Oath, and the investiture in the smock and insignia, be +carried out as soon as possible, and that an audio-visual recording be +made, and telecast this evening, before twenty-one hundred." + +Brigade commander Chernov, prodded by Cardon, jumped to his feet. + +"Excellent!" he cried. "I second the motion to amend the motion of +Literate Joyner." + +If there were such a thing as a bomb which would explode stunned +silence, Lancedale and Chernov had dropped such a bomb. Cardon could +guess how Joyner and Graves felt; they were now beginning to be afraid +of their own proposition. As for the Lancedale Literates, he knew how +many of them felt. He'd felt the same way, himself, when Lancedale had +proposed the idea. He got to his feet. + +"Literate President, brother Literates," he raised his voice. "I call +for an immediate vote on this amended motion, which I, personally, +endorse most heartily, and which I hope to see carried unanimously." + +"Now, wait a minute!" Joyner objected. "This motion ought to be +debated--" + +"What do you want to debate about it?" Chernov demanded. "You +presented it, didn't you?" + +"Well, I wanted to give the Council an opportunity to discuss it, as +typical of our problems in dealing with Black ... I mean, +non-Fraternities ... Literacy--" + +"You mean, you didn't know it was loaded!" Cardon told him. "Well, +that's your hard luck; we're going to squeeze the trigger!" + +"I withdraw the motion!" Joyner shouted. + +"Literate President," Lancedale said gently, his thin face lighting +with an almost saintly smile, "Literate Joyner simply cannot withdraw +his motion, now. It has been properly seconded and placed before the +house, and so has my own humble contribution to it. I demand that the +motion be acted upon." + +"Vote! Vote! Vote!" the Lancedale Literates began yelling. + +"I call on all my adherents to vote against this motion!" Joyner +shouted. + +"Now look here, Wilton!" Harvey Graves shouted, reddening with anger. +"You're just making a fool out of me. This was your idea, in the first +place! Do you want to smash everything we've ever done in the +Fraternities?" + +"Harvey, we can't go on with it," Joyner replied. He crossed quickly +to Graves' seat and whispered something. + +"For the record," Lancedale said sweetly, "our colleague, Literate +Joyner, has just whispered to Literate Graves that since I have +seconded his motion, he's now afraid of it. I think Literate Graves is +trying to assure him that my support is merely a bluff. For the +information of this body, I want to state categorically that it is +not, and that I will be deeply disappointed if this motion does not +pass." + +An elderly Literate on the Joyner-Graves side, an undersized man with +a bald head and a narrow mouth, was on his feet. He looked like an +aged rat brought to bay by a terrier. + +"I was against this fool idea from the start!" he yelled. "We've got +to keep the Illiterates down; how are we ever going to do that if we +go making Literates out of them? But you two thought you were being +smart--" + +"Shut up and sit down, you old jackass!" one of Joyner's people +shouted at him. + +"Shut up, yourself, Ginter," a hatchet-faced woman Literate from the +Finance Section squawked. + +Literate President Morehead, an amiable and ineffective maiden aunt in +trousers, pounded frantically with his gavel. "Order!" he fairly +screamed. "This is disgraceful!" + +"You can say that again!" Brigade commander Chernov boomed. "What do +you people over on the right think this is; an Illiterates' +Organization Political Action meeting?" + +"Vote! Vote!" Cardon bellowed. + +Literate President Morehead banged his gavel and, in a last effort, +started the call bell clanging. + +"The motion has been presented and seconded; the amendment has been +presented and seconded. It will now be put to a vote!" + +"Roll call!" Cardon demanded. Four or five other voices, from both +sides of the chamber, supported him. + +"The vote will be by roll call," Literate President Morehead agreed. +"Addison, Walter G." + +"Aye!" He was a subordinate of Harvey Graves. + +"Agostino, Pedro V." + +"Aye!" He was a Lancedale man. + +So it went on. Graves voted for the motion. Joyner voted against it. +All the Lancedale faction, now convinced that their leader had the +opposition on the run, voted loudly for it. + +"The vote has been one hundred and eighty-three for, seventy-two +against," Literate President Morehead finally announced. "The motion +is herewith declared carried. Literate Lancedale, I appoint you to +organize a committee to implement the said motion, at once." + + * * * * * + +Prestonby flung open the door of the rest room where Sergeant +Coccozello and his subordinate were guarding the unconscious Pelton. + +"Sergeant! Who's in charge of store police, now?" + +Coccozello looked blank for an instant. "I guess I am," he said. +"Lieutenant Dunbar's off on his vacation, in Mexico, and Captain +Freizer's in the hospital; he was taken sick suddenly last evening." + +Probably poisoned, Prestonby thought, making a mental note to find out +which hospital and get in touch with one of the Literate medics there. + +"Well, come out here, sergeant, and have a look around the store on +the TV. We have troubles." + +Coccozello could hear the noise that was still coming out of the +darkened screen. As he stepped forward, Claire got another pickup, +some distance from the one that had been knocked out. A mob of women +customers were surging away from the Chinaware Department, into +Glassware; they were running into the shopping crowd there, with +considerable disturbance. A couple of store police were trying to get +through the packed mass of humanity, and making slow going of it. +Coccozello swore and started calling on his reserves on one of the +handphones. + +"Wait a moment, sergeant," Prestonby stopped him. "Don't commit any of +your reserves down there. We're going to need them to hold the +executive country, up here. This is only the start of a general riot." + +"Who are you and what do you know about it?" Coccozello challenged. + +"Listen to him, Guido," Claire said. "He knows what he's doing." + +"Claire, you have some way of keeping a running count of the number of +customers in and out of the store, haven't you?" Prestonby asked. + +"Why, yes; here." She pointed to an indicator on Chester Pelton's +desk, where constantly changing numbers danced. + +"And don't you have a continuous check on sales, too? How do they +jibe?" + +"They don't; look. Sales are away below any expectation from the +number of customers, even allowing for shopping habits of a +bargain-day crowd. But what's that got to do--" + +Prestonby was back at the TV, shifting from pickup to pickup. + +"Look, sergeant, Claire. That isn't a normal bargain-day crowd, is it? +Look at those groups of men, three or four to a group, shifting +around, waiting for something to happen. This store's been +infiltrated by a big goon gang. That business in Chinaware's just the +start, to draw our reserves down to the third floor. Look at that, +now." + +He had a pickup on the twelfth floor, the floor just under the public +landing stages, and at the foot of the escalators leading to the +central executive block. + +"See how they're concentrating, there?" he pointed out. "In that +ladies' wear department, there are three men for every woman, and the +men are all drifting from counter to counter over in the direction of +our escalators." + +Coccozello swore again, feelingly. "Literate, you know your stuff!" he +said. "That fuss in China is just a feint; this is where they're +really going to hit. What do you think it is? Macy & Gimbel's trying +to bust up our sale, or politics?" + +Prestonby shrugged. "Take your choice. A competitor would concentrate +where your biggest volume of sale was going on, though; political +enemies would try to get up here, and that's what this gang's trying +to do." + +"He's absolutely right, Guido," Claire told the sergeant. "Do whatever +he tells you." + +Sergeant Coccozello looked at him, awaiting orders. + +"We can't commit our reserves in that Chinaware Department fight; we +need them up here. Where are they, now, and how many?" + +"Thirteen, counting myself and the man in there." He nodded toward the +room where Chester Pelton lay in drugged sleep. "In the squad room, on +the floor below." + +"And for the mob below to get up here?" + +"Two escalators, sir, northeast and southwest corners of office +country. And we got some new counters that Mr. Latterman had built, +that didn't get put out in time for the sale. We can use them to build +barricades, if we have to." + +"How about a 'copter attack on the roof?" + +Coccozello grinned. "I'd like to see that, now, Literate. We got +plenty of A-A equipment up there--four 7-mm machine guns, two 12-mm's, +and one 20-mm auto-cannon. We could hold off the State Guard with +that." + +"That isn't saying much, but they're not even that good. So it'll be +the escalators. Think, now, sergeant. Fires, burglary, holdups--" + +The sergeant's grin widened. "High-pressure fire hose, one at the head +of each escalator, and a couple more that can be dragged over from +other outlets. Say we put two men on each hose, lying down at the head +of the escalators. And we got plenty of firearms; we can arm some of +these clerks, up here--" + +"All right; do that. And put out an emergency call, by +inter-department telephone, not by public address, to floorwalkers +from the fifth floor down, to gather up all male clerks and other +store personnel in their departments, arm them with anything they can +find, and rush them to Chinaware. Tell them to shout 'Pelton!' when +they hit the mob, to avoid breaking each others' heads in the +confusion, and tell them they're expected to hold the Chinaware and +Glassware departments themselves, without any help from the store +police." + +"Why not?" Claire wanted to know. + +"That's how battles come to happen at the wrong time and place," +Prestonby told her. "Two small detachments collide, and each sends +back for re-enforcements, and the next thing anybody knows, there's a +full-size battle going on where nobody wants to fight one. We're going +to fight our main battle at the head of the escalators from the +twelfth floor." + +"You've done this sort of work before, Literate," Coccozello grinned. +"You talk like a storm-troop captain. What else?" + +"Well, so far, we've just been talking defense. We need to take the +offensive, ourselves." He glanced around. "Is there a freight elevator +from this block to the basement?" + +"Yeah. Wait till I see." Coccozello went to the TV-screen and dialed. +"Yeah, and the elevator's up here, too," he said. + +"Well, you take what men you can spare--a couple of your cops, and a +couple of the office crew--arm them with pistols, carbines, clubs, +whatever you please, and take them down to the basement. Gather up +all the warehouse gang, down there, and arm them. And as soon as you +get to the basement, send the elevator back up here. That's our life +line; we can't risk having it captured. You'll organize flying squads +to go up into the store from the basement. Bust up any trouble that +seems to be getting started, if you can, but your main mission will be +to rescue store police, Literates, Literates' guards, and store help, +and get them back to the basement. They'll be picked up from there and +brought up here on the elevator." He picked up a pad from a desk and +wrote a few lines on it. "Show this to any Literate you meet; get +Literate Hopkinson to countersign it for you, when you find him. Tell +him we want his whole gang up here as soon as possible." + +"How about getting help from outside?" Claire asked. "The city police, +or--" + +"City police won't lift a finger," Prestonby told her. "They never +help anybody who has a private police force; they have too much to do +protecting John Q. Citizen. Hutschnecker; suppose you call +Radical-Socialist campaign headquarters; tell them to rush some of +their Lone Rangers around here--" + + * * * * * + +[Illustration:] + +Russell M. Latterman was lunching in the store restaurant, at a table +next the thick glass partition, where he could look out across +Confectionery and Pastries toward the Tobacco Shoppe and the Liquor +Department. There were two ways of looking at it, of course. He was +occupying a table that might have been used by a customer, but, on the +other hand, he was known by sight to many of the customers, and the +fact that he was eating here had some advertising value, and he could +keep his eye on the business going on around him. Off in the distance, +he caught the white flash of a Literate smock at one of the counters; +one of the new crew sent in to replace the ones Bayne had pulled out. +He was glad and at the same time disturbed. He had had his doubts +about staging a Literates' strike, and he was almost positive that +Wilton Joyner had known nothing about it. The whole thing had been +Harvey Graves' idea. There was a serious question of Literate ethics +involved, to say nothing of the effect on the public. The trick of +forcing Claire Pelton to reveal her secret Literacy was all right, +although he wished that it had been Frank Cardon who had opened that +safe. Or did he? Cardon would have brazened it out, claimed to have +memorized the combination after having learned it by observation, and +would probably have gotten away with it. But that silly girl had lost +her head afterward, and had gone on to brand herself, irrevocably, as +a Literate. + +One of the waitresses was hurrying toward him, almost falling over +herself in excitement. She began talking when she was ten feet from +the table. + +"Mr. Latterman! Mr. Latterman!" she was calling to him. "A terrible +fight, down in Chinaware--!" + +"Well, what do we have store police for?" he demanded. "They can take +care of it. Now be quiet, Madge; don't get the customers excited!" + +He returned to his lunch, watching, with satisfaction, the crowd that +was packing into the Liquor Department, next to the restaurant. That +special loss-leader, Old Atom-Bomb Rye, had been a good idea. In the +first place, the stuff was fit for nothing but cleaning drains and +removing varnish; if he were Pelton, he would have fired that fool +buyer who got them overstocked on it. But the audio-advertiser, +outside, was reiterating: "_Choice whiskies, two hundred dollars a +sixth and up!_" and pulling in the customers, who, when they +discovered that the two-hundred-dollar bargain was Old Atom-Bomb, were +shelling out five hundred to a grand a sixth for good liquor. + +He finished his coffee and got to his feet. Be a good idea to look in +on Liquor, and see how things were going. The department was getting +more and more crowded every minute; three customers were entering for +every one who left. + +On the way, he passed two women, and caught a snatch of conversation: + +"Don't go down on the third floor, for Heaven's sake ... terrible +fight ... smashing everything up--" + +Worried, he continued into Liquor, and the looks of the crowd there +increased his worries. Too many men between twenty and thirty, all +dressed alike, looking alike, talking and acting alike. It looked like +a goon-gang infiltration, and he was beginning to see why Harvey +Graves had wanted the Literates pulled out, and why Joyner, bound by +ethics to do nothing against the commercial interests of Pelton's, had +known nothing about it. He started toward a counter, to speak to a +clerk, but one of the stocky, quietly-dressed young men stepped in +front of him. + +"Gimme a bottle of Atom-Bomb," he said. "Don't bother wrapping it." + +"Yes, sir." The clerk seemed worried, too. He got the bottle and set +it on the counter. "That'll be two C, sir." + +"I see you're wearing a Radical-Socialist button," the customer +commented. "Because you want to, or because Chet Pelton makes you?" + +"Mr. Pelton never interferes with his employees' political +convictions," the clerk replied loyally. + +Saying nothing, the customer took the bottle, swung it by the neck, +and smashed it over the clerk's head, knocking him senseless. + +"That's all that rotgut's good for," the customer said, jumping over +the counter. "All right, boys; help yourselves!" + + * * * * * + +For a surprisingly long time, the riot was localized in China, where +it had begun. Using, alternately, three TV-pickups around the scene of +the disturbance, Prestonby watched its progress, and watched +successive details of store personnel, armed with clubs and a few +knives and sono pistols, hit the riot, shouting their battle cry, and +vanish. They were, of course, lambs of sacrifice, however unlamblike +their conduct. They were buying time, and they were drawing groups of +goons into the action in China and Glassware who might have been +making trouble elsewhere. + +There was an outbreak on the sixth floor, in Liquor; Claire, touring +the store on the other TV-screen, spotted it and called his attention +to it. Back of the shattered glass partition, a mob of men were +snatching bottles from the shelves and tossing them out to the crowd. +One of the clerks, in his gray uniform jacket, was lying unconscious +outside. While Prestonby watched, another, and another, came flying +out the doorway. A fourth victim, in ordinary business clothes, +tattered and disheveled, came flying out after them, to land in a +heap, stunned for an instant, and then pick himself up. Prestonby +laughed heartily when he recognized Literate--undercover--First Class +Russell M. Latterman. + +"I ought to have anticipated that," he said. "Any time there's a riot, +the liquor stores are the first things looted. The liquor stores, and +the--Claire! See what's going on in Sporting Goods!" + +Sporting Goods, between Tools & Hardware and Toys, on the fifth floor, +was swamped. One of the clerks was lying on the floor in a puddle of +blood, past any help; none of the others were in sight. The gun racks +and pistol cases were being cleaned out systematically. This had been +organized in advance. There were four or five men working +industriously wiping grease out of bores and actions before handing +out firearms, and a couple more making sure that the right cartridges +went with each weapon. Somebody had brought a small grinding wheel +over from Tools and plugged it in, and was grinding points on the +foils and epees. Others were collecting baseball bats, golf clubs, and +football helmets and catchers' masks. The Tool Department was being +stripped of everything that could be used as a weapon, too. + +The whole store, by this time, was an approximation of Mutiny in a +Madhouse. Dressgoods was being looted by a howling mob of women, who +were pulling bolts of material from shelves and fighting among +themselves over them. Somebody had turned on the electric fans, and +long streams of flimsy fabric were blowing about like a surrealist +maypole dance. Somebody in Household Furnishings had turned on a +couple of fans, too, and a mob of hoodlums were opening cans of paint +and throwing them into the fan blades. + +The little Antiques Department, in a corner of the fourth floor back +of the Gift Shoppe, was an island of peace in the general chaos. There +was only one way into it, and one of the clerks, who had gotten +himself into a suit of Fifteenth Century battle armor, was standing in +the entrance, leaning on a two-hand sword. There was blood on the long +blade, and more blood splashed on the floor in front of him. He was +being left entirely alone. + + * * * * * + +Hutschnecker, called to the telephone, spoke briefly, listened for a +while, spoke again in hearty thanks, and hung up. + +"Macy & Gimbel's," he told Prestonby. "They heard about our +trouble--probably one of their price-spotters phoned in about it--and +they're offering to send twenty of their store-cops to help us out. +They'll be landing on our stage in eight minutes, rifles and steel +helmets." + +Prestonby nodded. It would have been quite conceivable that Pelton's +chief competitor had started the riot; since they hadn't, their offer +of armed aid was just as characteristic of the bitter but +mutually-respectful rivalries of the commercial world. A few minutes +later, another call came in, this time on the visiphone. Prestonby +took it when he saw a Literates' Guards officer in the screen and +recognized him. + +"That you, Prestonby?" the officer, Major Slater, asked in some +surprise. "Didn't know you were at Pelton's. What's going on, there?" + +Prestonby told him, briefly. + +"Yes; we had some of our people at the store, in plain clothes," +Slater said. "Just in case of trouble. On Mr. L.'s orders. They +reported a riot starting, but naturally, their reports were +incomplete. Can you get one of your landing stages cleared for us? We +have two hundred men, in twenty 'copters." Then he must have noticed +some of the store Illiterates back of Prestonby, and realized that +this offer of help to Literacy's worst enemy would arouse suspicion. +"Not that we care what happens to Chester Pelton, but we have to +protect our own people at the store." + +"Yes, of course," Prestonby agreed. "Come in on our north stage. +You'll probably find a fight going on on our twelfth floor, just +inside. Anybody who's trying to get up the escalators to the office +block will be an enemy." + +"Right. We're halfway there now." The Literates' Guards officer broke +the connection. + +"You heard that?" he asked, turning to the others in the office. "If +we can hold out till they get here, we're all right. Did you contact +Radical-Socialist headquarters, yet, Hutschnecker?" + +"Yes. I talked to a fellow named Yingling. He said that all the party +storm troops had been lured out to some kind of a disturbance in North +Jersey Borough; he'd try to get them recalled." + +Prestonby swore bitterly. "By the time his own party-goons get here, +the Literates' Guards and Macy & Gimbel's will have pulled Pelton's +bacon off the fire for him. Nice friends he has!" + +An alarm buzzer went off suddenly, and an urgent voice came out of the +box on the wall: + +"Here come the goons! South escalator!" + +Prestonby grabbed a burp gun and a canvas musette bag full of clips. +By the time he had gotten down to what, in deference to the +superstitions of the Illiterate store force, was known as the +fourteenth floor, an attack on the north escalator had developed as +well. In both cases, the attackers seemed to expect no organized +resistance. They simply jumped onto the escalators, adding their own +running speed, and came rushing up, firing pistols ahead of them at +random. + +The defenders, however, had been ready: the fire hoses caught those in +the lead and hurled them back. Some of them vaulted the barrier +between the ascending and descending spirals and let themselves be +carried down again. Less than five minutes after the buzzer had +sounded the warning, the attack stopped. The noise on the twelfth +floor increased, however, and, leaning over into the escalator-way, +Prestonby could see the rioters firing in the direction of the +entrance from the north landing stage. Within a matter of thirty +seconds, they began to flee, and a wave of Literates' Guards, in their +futuristic "space cadet" uniforms, came pouring in after them. + + * * * * * + +Douglass MacArthur Yetsko put the burp gun back together again, tried +the action, and laid it aside with a sigh. He had cleaned every weapon +in his and Prestonby's private arsenal, since lunch, and now he had to +admit the unpalatable fact that there was nothing left to do but turn +on the TV. Ray had been no company at all; the boy hadn't spoken a +word since he'd started rummaging among the captain's books. Gloomily, +he snapped on the screen to sample the soap shows. + +Della Pallas was in jail again, this time accused of murdering the +lawyer who had gotten her acquitted on a previous murder rap. +Considering the fact that she had languished in jail for almost a year +during the other trial, Yetsko felt that she had a sound motive. +Rudolf Barstow, in "Broadway Wife," was, like Bruce's spider, +spinning his five hundredth web to ensnare the glamorous Marie +Knobble. And there was a show about a schoolteacher and her class of +angelic little tots that almost brought Yetsko's lunch up. + +He shifted the dial again; a young Literate announcer was speaking +quickly, excitedly: + +"... Scene of the riot, already the worst this year, and growing +steadily worse. We take you now to downtown Manhattan, where our +portable units and commentators have just arrived, and switch you to +Ed Morgan." + +The screen went black, and Yetsko swore angrily. Ray lifted his head +quickly from his book and reached for the sono pistol Yetsko had given +him. + +"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and just a moment, until we can +give you the picture. We're having what is usually labeled as 'slight +technical difficulties,' in this case the difficulty of avoiding +having a hole shot in our camera or in your commentator's head. Yes, +that's shooting you hear; there, somebody's using an auto rifle! How +are you coming, Steve?" + +A voice muttered something which, two centuries ago, would have caused +an earth-shaking scandal in the whole radio-TV industry. + +"Well, till Steve gets things fixed up, a brief review, to date, of +what's sure to go down in history as the Battle of Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise--" + +"Huh?" Ray fairly shouted, the book forgotten. + +"... Started in the Chinaware Department, as a relatively innocent +brawl, and spread to the Liquor Department, and then, all of a sudden, +everybody started playing rough. At first, it was suspected that Macy +& Gimbel's had sent a goon gang around to break up Pelton's fall sale, +but when the former concern rallied to the assistance of their +competitor with a force of twenty riflemen, that began to look less +likely, and we're beginning to think that it might be the work of some +of Pelton's political enemies. About ten minutes ago, Major James F. +Slater, of the Literates' Guards, arrived with two hundred of his men, +to protect the Literates on duty at the store. They captured the +entire twelfth floor, where we are, now, with the exception of the +Ladies' Lingerie and Hosiery departments around one of the escalators +to the lower floors; here the gang who started the riot, and who are +now donning white hoods to distinguish themselves from the various +other factions involved, have thrown up barricades of counters and +display tables and are fighting bitterly to keep control of the +escalator head. Ah, here we are!" + +The screen lit suddenly, and they were looking, Ray over Yetsko's +shoulder, across the devastated expanse of what had been the Ladies' +Frocks department, toward Lingerie and Hosiery, which seemed to have +been thoroughly looted, then stripped of everything that could be used +to build a barricade. + +"... Seems to have been quite a number of heavy 'copters just landed +on the east stage, filled with more goons, probably to re-enforce the +gang back of that barricade. The firing's gotten noticeably heavier--" + + * * * * * + +Yetsko had turned from the screen, and was pawing in the arms locker. +For a job like this, he'd need firepower. He took the ten-shot clip +from the butt of his pistol and inserted one with a curling +hundred-shot drum at the bottom, and shoved two more like it into the +pockets of his jacket. And now, something to clear the way with. He +took out a three-foot length of weighted fire hose. + +Then he saw Ray. That kid was pinning him down, here, while the +captain was probably fighting for his life! But the captain'd told him +to stay with Ray--He dropped the weighted hose. + +"What's the matter, Doug?" the boy asked. "Pick it up and let's get +going." + +He shook his head. "Can't. The captain told me I had to take care of +you." + +The boy opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and thought for a +moment. Then he asked: + +"Doug, didn't Captain Prestonby tell you to stay with me?" + +"Yes--" + +"All right. You do just that, because I'm going to help Claire and the +senator. That's who that goon gang's after." + +Yetsko considered the proposition for a moment, horrified. Why, this +was the captain's girl's kid brother; if anything happened to him--His +mind refused to contemplate what the captain would do to him. + +"No. You gotta stay here, Ray," he said. "The captain--" + +Then his eye caught the screen. Ed Morgan must have found a place +where he could run his camera up on an extension rod from behind +something; they were looking down, from almost ceiling height, at the +barricade, and at the Literates' guards who were firing from cover at +it. A sudden blast of automatic-weapons burst from the barricade; more +men in white hoods came boiling up the escalator, and they all rushed +forward. The few Literates' guards skirmishers were overwhelmed. He +saw one of them, a man he knew, Sam Igoe, from Company 5, go down +wounded; he saw one of the white-hooded goons pause to brain him with +a carbine butt before charging on. + +"Why, you dirty rotten Illiterate--!" he roared, retrieving his +weighted hose. "Come on, Ray; let's go!" + +Ray hesitated, as though in thought. "Ken Dorchin; Harry Cobb; Dick +Hirschfield; Jerry McCarty; Ramon Nogales; Pete Shawne; Tom +Hutchinson--" + +"Who--?" Yetsko began. "What've they gotta do with--?" + +"We need a gang; the two of us'd last about as long as a pint of beer +at a Dutch picnic." Ray went to the desk, grabbed a pen, and made a +list of names, in a fair imitation of Ralph Prestonby's neat +block-printing. "Give this to the girl outside, and tell her to have +them called for and sent in here," the boy directed. "And see if you +can find us some transport. I think there ought to be a couple of big +'copters finished down at the shops. And if you can find a couple more +Literates' guards you can talk into going with us--" + +Yetsko nodded and took the paper without question. He was not, and he +would be the first to admit it, of the thinking type. He was a good +sergeant, but he had to have an officer to tell him what to do. Ray +Pelton might be only fifteen years old, but his sister was the +captain's girl, and that put him in the officer class. A very young +and recently-commissioned second lieutenant, say, but definitely an +officer. Yetsko took the list and looked at it. Like most Literates' +guards, he could read, after a fashion. He recognized the names; the +boys were all members of the top floor secret society. He went out and +gave the list to Martha Collins. + +He'd expected some argument with her, but she seemed to accept Ray +Pelton's printing as Prestonby's; she began checking room charts and +class lists, and calling for the boys to be sent at once to the +office. He went out, and down to the 'copter repair shop, where he +found that a big four-ton air truck that the senior class had been +working on for several weeks was finished. + +"That thing been tested, yet?" he asked the instructor. + +"Yes; I had it up, myself, this morning. Flew it over to the Bronx and +back with a load of supplies." + +"O. K. Have somebody you can trust--one of your guards, +preferably--bring it around behind the Administration Wing. Captain +Prestonby wants it. I'm to take some boys from Fourth Year Civics on a +tour. Something about election campaign methods." + +The instructor called a Literates' guard and gave him instructions. +Yetsko went to the guards' squad room on the second floor, where he +found half a dozen of the reserves loafing. + +"All right; you guys start earning your pay," he said. "We're going to +a party." + +The men got to their feet and began gathering their weapons. + +"Mason," he continued, "you have your big 'copter here; the gang of +you can all get in it. I'm taking off in a four-ton truck, with some +of these kids. I want you boys to follow us. We're going to Pelton's +store. There's a fight going on there, and the captain's in the middle +of it. We gotta get him out." + +They all looked at him in puzzled surprise, but nobody gave him any +argument. Funny, now that he thought of it; it had been quite a long +time since anybody had ever given him any argument about anything. A +couple of guys out in Pittsburgh had tried it, but somehow they'd lost +interest in arguing, after a little-- + +When he returned to the office and opened the door, a blast of shots +greeted him through the open door of Prestonby's private office. He +had his pistol out before he realized that the shooting was going on +at Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise, ten miles away. Literate Martha +Collins, in the inner room, was fairly screaming: "Shut that infernal +thing off and listen to me!" + +The dozen-odd boys whom Ray had recruited for the improvised +relief-expedition were pulling weapons out of the gun locker, pawing +through the boxes on the ammunition shelf, trying to explain to one +another the working of machine carbines and burp guns. Yetsko +shouldered through them and turned down the sound volume of the TV. + +"This is absolutely outrageous!" Literate Martha Collins stormed at +him. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking these children to a +murderous battle like that--" + +"Well, maybe it ain't right, using savages in a civilized riot," +Yetsko admitted, "but I don't care. The captain's in a jam, and I'd +use live devils, if I could catch a few." He took a burp gun from one +of the boys, who had opened the action and couldn't get it closed +again. "Here; you kids don't want this kinda stuff," he reproved. +"Sono guns, and sleep-gas guns, that's all right. But these things are +killing tools!" + +"It's what we'll have to use, Doug," Ray told him. "Things have been +happening, since you went out. Look at the screen." + +Yetsko looked, and swore blisteringly. Then he gave the burp gun back +to the boy. + +"Look; you gotta press this little gismo, here, to let the action shut +when there's no clip in, or when the clip's empty. When you got a +loaded clip in, you just pull back on this and let go--" + + * * * * * + +Frank Cardon looked at his watch, and saw that it was 1345, as it had +been ten seconds before, when he had last looked. He started to drum +nervously on his chair arm with his fingers, then caught himself as he +saw Lancedale, who must have been every bit as anxious as himself, +standing outwardly calm and unruffled. + +"Well, that's the situation which now confronts us, brother +Literates," the slender, white-haired man was finishing. "You must +see, by now, that the policy of unyielding opposition which some of +you have advocated and pursued is futile. You know the policy I favor, +which now remains the only policy we can follow; it is summed up in +that law of political strategy: If you can't lick 'em, join 'em, and, +after joining, take control. + +"In spite of the Radical-Socialist victory in this state at tomorrow's +election, it will not be possible, in the next Congress, to enact +Pelton's socialized Literacy program into law. The Radicals will not be +able to capture enough seats in the lower house, and there are too many +uncontested seats in the Senate now held by Independent-Conservatives. +But, and this is inevitable, barring some unforeseen accident of the +order of a political cataclysm, they will control both houses of +Congress after the election of 2144, two years hence, and we can also be +sure that two years hence Chester Pelton will be nominated and +overwhelmingly elected president of the Consolidated States of North +America. Six months thereafter, the socialized Literacy program will be +the law of the land. + +"So, we have until mid-2145 to make our preparations. I would estimate +that, if we do not destroy ourselves by our own folly in the meantime, +we should, two years thereafter, be in complete if secret control of +the whole Consolidated States Government. If any of you question that +last statement, you can merely ask yourselves one question: How, in +the name of all that is rational, can Illiterates control and operate +a system of socialized Literacy? Who but Literates can keep such a +program from disintegrating into complete and indescribable confusion? + +"I don't ask for any decision at this time. I do not ask for any +debate at this time. Let each of us consider the situation in his or +her own mind, and let us meet again a week from today to consider our +future course of action, each of us realizing that any decision we +take then will determine forever the fate of our Fraternities." He +looked around the room. "Thank you, brother Literates," he said. + +Instantly, Cardon was on his feet with a motion to recess the meeting +until 1300 the following Monday, and Brigade commander Chernov +seconded the motion immediately. As soon as Literate President +Morehead's gavel banged, Cardon, still on his feet, was running for +the double doors at the rear; the two Literates' guards on duty there +got them unsealed and opened by the time he had reached them. + +There was another guard in the hall, waiting for him with a little +record-disk. + +"From Major Slater; call came in about ten minutes ago," he said. + +Cardon snapped the disk into his recorder-reproducer and put in the +ear plug. + +"Frank," Slater's voice came out of the small machine. "You'd better +get busy, or you won't have any candidate when the polls open tomorrow. +Just got a call from Pelton's store--place infiltrated by goons, +estimated strength two hundred, presumed Independent-Conservatives. +Serious rioting already going on; I'm taking my reserve company there. +And if you haven't found out, yet, where China is, it's on the third +floor, next to Glassware." + +Cardon pulled out the ear plug, stuffed the recorder into his trouser +pocket, and began unbuckling his Sam Browne as he ran for the nearest +wall visiphone. He was dialing the guard room on that floor with one +hand as he took off the belt. + +"Get a big ambulance on the roof, with a Literate medic and +orderly-driver," he ordered, unbuttoning his smock. "And four guards, +plain clothes if possible, but don't waste time changing clothes if +you don't have anybody out of uniform. Heavy-duty sono guns, sleep-gas +projectors, gas masks and pistols. Hurry." He threw the smock and belt +at the guard. "Here, Pancho; put these away for me. Thanks." He tossed +the last word back over his shoulder as he ran for the escalator. + +[Illustration:] + +It was three eternal minutes after he had reached the landing stage +above before the ambulance arrived, medic and orderly on the front +seat and the four guards, all in conservatively cut civilian clothes, +inside. He crowded in beside the medic, told him, "Pelton's store," +and snapped the door shut as the big white 'copter began to rise. + +They climbed to five thousand feet, and then the driver nosed his +vehicle up, cut his propeller and retracted it, and fired his rocket, +aiming toward downtown Manhattan. Four minutes later, after the rocket +stopped firing and they were on the down-curve of their trajectory, +the propeller was erected and they began letting down toward the +central landing stage of Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise. Cardon cut in +the TV and began calling the control tower. + +"Ambulance, to evacuate Mr. Pelton," he called. "What's the score, +down there?" + +One of Pelton's traffic-control men appeared on Cardon's screen. +"You're safe to land on the central stage, but you'd better come in at +a long angle from the north," he said. "We control the north public +stage, but the east and south stages are in the hands of the goons; +they'd fire on you. Land beside that big pile of boxes under +tarpaulins up here, but be careful; it's fireworks we didn't have time +to get into storage." + +The ambulance came slanting in from uptown, and Cardon looked around +anxiously. The May-fly dance of customers' 'copters had stopped; there +was a Sabbath stillness about the big store, at least visually. A few +small figures in Literates' guards black leather moved about on the +north landing stage, and several Pelton employees were on the central +stop stage. The howling of the 'copter propeller overhead effectively +blocked out any sounds that might be coming from the building, at +least until the ambulance landed. Then a spatter of firing from below +was audible. + +Cardon, the medic and the guards piled out, the latter with the +stretcher. The orderly-driver got out his tablet pistol and checked +the chamber, then settled into a posture of watchful relaxation. Major +Slater was waiting for them by one of the vertical lift platforms. + +"I tried to get hold of you, but that blasted meeting was going on, +and they had the doors sealed, and--" he began. + +Cardon hushed him quickly. "Around here, I'm an Illiterate," he +warned. "Where's Pelton? We've got to get him and his daughter out of +here, at once." + +"He's still flat on his back, out cold," Slater said. "The medic you +sent around here gave him a shot of hypnotaine: he'll be out for a +couple of hours, yet. Prestonby's still here. He's commanding the +defense; doing a good job, too." + +That was good. Ralph would help get Claire to Literates' Hall, after +they'd gotten her father to safety. + +"There must be about five hundred Independent-Conservative storm +troopers in the store," Slater was saying. "Most of them got here +after we did. The city cops have all the street approaches roped off; +they're letting nobody but Grant Hamilton's thugs in." + +"They were fairly friendly this morning," Cardon said. "Mayor Jameson +must have passed the word." They all got off the lift two floors down, +where they found Claire Pelton and Ralph Prestonby waiting. "Hello, +Ralph. Claire. What's the situation?" + +"We have all the twelfth floor," Prestonby said. "We have about half +the eleventh, including the north and west public stages. We have the +basement and the storerooms and the warehouse--Sergeant Coccozello's +down there, with as many of the store police and Literates and +Literates' guards and store-help as he could salvage, and the +warehouse gang. They've taken most of the ground floor, the main +mezzanine, and parts of the second floor. We moved two of the 7-mm +machine guns down from the top, and we control the front street +entrance with them and a couple of sono guns. The store's isolated +from the outside by the city police, who are allowing re-enforcements +to come through for the raiders, but we're managing to stop them at +the doors." + +"Have you called Radical-Socialist headquarters for help?" + +"Yes, half a dozen times. There's some fellow named Yingling there, +who says that all their storm troops are over in North Jersey, on some +kind of a false-alarm riot-call, and can't be contacted." + +"So?" Cardon commented gently. "That's too bad, now." Too bad for +Horace Yingling and Joe West; this time tomorrow, they'll be a pair of +dead traitors, he thought. "Well, we'll have to make do with what we +have. Where's Russ Latterman, by the way?" + +Prestonby gave a sidewise glance toward Claire and shook his head, his +lips pressed tightly together. _She doesn't know, yet_, Cardon +interpreted. + +"Down in the basement, with Coccozello," Prestonby said, aloud. "We're +in telephone communication with Coccozello, and have a freight +elevator running between here and the basement. Coccozello says +Latterman is using a rifle against the raiders, killing every one he +can get a shot at." + +Cardon nodded. Probably vindictive about being involved in action +injurious to Pelton's commercial interests; just another odd quirk of +Literate ethics. + +"We'd better get him up here," he said. "You and I have got to leave, +at once; we have to get Pelton and Claire to safety. He can help Major +Slater till we can get back with re-enforcements. I am going to kill a +man named Horace Yingling, and then I'm going to round up the storm +troops he diverted on a wild-goose chase to North Jersey." He nodded +to the medic and the four plain-clothes guards. "Get Pelton on the +stretcher. Better use the canvas flaps and the straps. He's under +hypnotaine, but it's likely to be a rough trip. Claire, get anything +you want to take with you. Ralph will take you where you'll be safe +for a while." + +"But the store--" Claire began. + +"Your father has riot-insurance, doesn't he? I know he does; they +doubled the premium on him when he came out for Senate. Let the +insurance company worry about the store." + +The medic and the guards moved into Chester Pelton's private rest room +with the stretcher. Claire went to the desk and began picking up odds +and ends, including the pistol Cardon had given her, and putting them +in her handbag. + +"We've got to keep her away from her father, for a few days, Ralph," +he told Prestonby softly. "It's all over town that she can read and +write. We've got to give him a chance to cool off before he sees her +again. Take her to Lancedale. I have everything fixed up; she'll be +admitted to the Fraternities this afternoon, and given Literate +protection." + +Prestonby grabbed his hand impulsively. "Frank! I'll never be able to +repay you for this, not if I live to be a thousand--" he began. + +There was a sudden blast of sound from overhead--the banging of +machine guns, the bark of the store's 20-mm auto-cannon, the howling +of airplane jets, and the crash of explosions. Everybody in the room +jerked up and stood frozen, then Prestonby jumped for the TV-screen +and pawed at the dials. A moment later, after the screen flashed and +went black twice, they were looking across the topside landing stage +from a pickup at one corner. + +A slim fighter-bomber, with square-tipped, backswept, wings, was +jetting up in almost perpendicular flight; another was coming in +toward the landing stage, and, as they watched, a flight of rockets +leaped forward from under its wings. Cardon saw the orderly-driver of +the ambulance jump down and start to run for the open lift-shaft. He +got five steps away from his vehicle. Then the rockets came in, and +one of them struck the tarpaulin-covered pile of boxes beside the +ambulance. There was a flash of multicolored flame, in which the man +and the vehicle he had left both vanished. Immediately, the screen +went black. + +The fireworks had mostly exploded at the first blast; however, when +Cardon and Major Slater and one or two others reached the top landing +stage, there were still explosions. A thing the size and shape of a +two-gallon kettle, covered with red paper, came rolling toward them, +and suddenly let go with a blue-green flash, throwing a column of +smoke, in miniature imitation of an A-bomb, into the air. Something +about three feet long came whizzing at them on the end of a tail of +fire, causing them to fling themselves flat; involuntarily, Cardon's +head jerked about and his eyes followed it until it blew up with a +flash and a bang three blocks uptown. Here and there, colored fire +flared, small rockets flew about, and firecrackers popped. + +The ambulance was gone, blown clear off the roof. The other 'copters +on the landing stage were a tangled mass of wreckage. The 20-mm was +toppled over; the gunner was dead, and one of the crew, half-dazed, +was trying to drag a third man from under the overturned gun. The +control tower, with the two 12-mm machine guns, was wrecked. The two +7-mm's that had been left on the top had vanished, along with the +machine gunners, in a hole that had been blown in the landing stage. + +Cardon, Slater, and the others dashed forward and pulled the +auto-cannon off the injured man, hauling him and his companion over to +the lift. The two rakish-winged fighter-bombers were returning, +spraying the roof with machine-gun bullets, and behind them came a +procession of fifteen big 'copters. They dropped the lift hastily; +Slater jumped off when it was still six feet above the floor, and +began shouting orders. + +"Falk: take ten men and get to the head of this lift-shaft! Burdick, +Levine: get as many men as you can in thirty seconds, and get up to +the head of the escalator! Diaz: go down and tell Sternberg to bring +all his gang up here!" + +Cardon caught up a rifle and rummaged for a bandolier of ammunition, +losing about a minute in the search. The delay was fortunate; when he +got to the escalators, he was met by a rush of men hurrying down the +ascending spiral or jumping over onto the descending one. + +"Sono guns!" one of them was shouting. "They have the escalator head +covered; you'll get knocked out before you get off the spiral!" + +He turned and looked toward the freight lift. It was coming down again, +with Falk and his men unconscious on it, knocked senseless by bludgeons +of inaudible sound, and a half a dozen of the 'copter-borne raiders, all +wearing the white robes and hoods of the Independent-Conservative storm +troops. He swung his rifle up and began squeezing the trigger, +remembering to first make sure that the fire-control lever was set +forward for semiauto, and remembering his advice to Goodkin, that +morning. By the time the platform had stopped, all the men in white +robes were either dead or wounded, and none of the unconscious +Literates' guards along with them had been injured. The medic who had +come with Cardon, assisted by a couple of the office force, got the +casualties sorted out. There was nothing that could be done about the +men who had been sono-stunned; in half an hour or so, they would recover +consciousness with no ill effects that a couple of headache tablets +wouldn't set right. + +The situation, while bad, was not immediately desperate. If the +white-clad raiders controlled the top landing stage, they were pinned +down by the firearms and sono guns of the defenders, below, who were +in a position to stop anything that came down the escalators or the +lift shaft. The fate of the first party was proof of that. And the +very magnitude of the riot guaranteed that somebody on the outside, +city police, State guards, or even Consolidated States regulars, would +be taking a hand shortly. The air attack and 'copter-landing on the +roof had been excellent tactics, but it had been a serious +policy-blunder. As long as the disturbance had been confined to the +interior of the store, the city police could shrug it off as another +minor riot on property supposed to be protected by private police, and +do nothing about it. The rocket-attack on the top landing stage and +the spectacular explosion of the fireworks temporarily stored there, +however, was something that simply couldn't be concealed or dismissed. +The cloud of varicolored smoke alone must have been visible all over +the five original boroughs of the older New York, and there were +probably rumors of atom-bombing going around. + +"What gets me," Slater, who must have been thinking about the same +thing, said to Cardon, "is where they got hold of those two +fighter-bombers. That kind of stuff isn't supposed to be in private +hands." + +"A couple of hundred years ago, they had something they called the +Sullivan Law," Cardon told him. "Private citizens weren't even allowed +to own pistols. But the gangsters and hoodlums seemed to be able to +get hold of all the pistols they wanted, and burp guns, too. I know of +four or five racket gangs in this area that have aircraft like that, +based up in the Adirondacks, at secret fields. Anybody who has +connections with one of those gangs can order an air attack like this +on an hour's notice, if he's able to pay for it. What I can't +understand is the Independent-Conservatives doing anything like this. +The facts about this business will be all over the state before the +polls open tomorrow--" He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Come on; +let's have a look at those fellows who came down on the lift!" + +There were two dead men in white Independent-Conservative robes and +hoods, lying where they had been dragged from the lift platform. +Cardon pulled off the hoods and zipped open the white robes. One of +the men was a complete stranger; the other, however, was a man he had +seen, earlier in the day, at the Manhattan headquarters of the +Radical-Socialist Party. One of the Consolidated Illiterates' +Organization people; a follower of West and Yingling. + +"So that's how it was!" he said, straightening. "Now I get it! Let's +go see if any of those wounded goons are in condition to be +questioned." + + * * * * * + +Ray Pelton and Doug Yetsko had their heads out an open window on the +right side of the cab of the 'copter truck; Ray was pointing down. + +"That roof, over there, looks like a good place to land," he said. "We +can get down the fire escape, and the hatch to the conveyor belt is +only half a block away." + +Yetsko nodded. There'd be a watchman, or a private cop, in the +building on which Ray intended landing. A couple of hundred dollars +would take care of him, and they could leave two of Mason's boys with +the vehicles to see that he stayed bribed. + +"Sure we can get in on the freight conveyor?" he asked. "Maybe it'll +be guarded." + +"Then we'll have to crawl in through the cable conduit," Ray said. +"I've done that, lots of times; so have most of the other guys." He +nodded toward the body of the truck, behind, where his dozen-odd +'teen-age recruits were riding. "I've played all over the store, ever +since I've been big enough to walk; I must know more about it than +anybody but the guy who built it. That's why I said we'd have to bring +bullet guns; down where we're going, we'd gas ourselves with gas guns, +and if we used sono guns, we'd knock ourselves out with the echo." + +"You know, Ray, you'll make a real storm trooper," Yetsko said. "If +you manage to stay alive for another ten years, you'll be almost as +good a storm troop captain as Captain Prestonby." + +That, Ray knew, was about as high praise as Doug Yetsko could give +anybody. He'd have liked to ask Doug more about Captain +Prestonby--Doug could never seem to get used to the idea of his +officer being a schoolteacher--but there was no time. The 'copter +truck was already settling onto the roof. + +The watchman proved amenable to reason. He took one look at Yetsko, +with three feet of weighted fire hose in his hand, and gulped, then +accepted the two C-notes Yetsko gave him. They left a couple of +Literates' guards with the vehicles, and Ray led the way to the fire +escape, and down into the alley. A few hundred feet away, there was an +iron grating which they pulled up. Ray drew the pistol he had gotten +out of Captain Prestonby's arms locker and checked the magazine, +chamber, and safety, knowing that Yetsko and the other guards were +watching him critically, and then started climbing down the ladder. + +The conduit was halfway down. Yetsko, climbing behind him, examined it +with his flashlight, probably wondering how he was going to fit +himself into a hole like that. They climbed down onto the concrete +walkway beside the conveyor belts, and in the dim light of the +overhead lamps Ray could see that the two broad belts, to and from the +store, were empty for as far as he could see in either direction. +Normally, there should be things moving constantly in both +directions--big wire baskets full of parcels for delivery, and trash +containers, going out, and bales and crates and cases of merchandise, +and empty delivery baskets and trash containers coming in. He pointed +this out to Yetsko. + +"Sure," the big Literates' guards sergeant nodded. "They got control +of the opening from the terminal, and they probably got a gang up at +the other end, too," he shouted, over the noise of the conveyor belts. +"I hope they haven't got into the basement of the store." + +"If they have, I know a way to get in," Ray told him. "You'd better +stay here for about five minutes, and let me scout ahead. We don't +want to run into a big gang of them ahead." + +Yetsko shook his head. "No, Ray; the captain told me I was to stick +with you. I'll go along with you. And we better take another of these +kids, for a runner, in case we have to send word back." + +"Ramon, you come with us," Ray said. "The rest of you, stay here for +five minutes, and then, if you don't hear from us, follow us." + +"Mason, you take over," Yetsko told the guards corporal. "And keep an +eye out behind you. We're in a sandwich, here; they're behind us, and +in front of us. If anything comes at you from behind, send the kids +forward to the next conduit port." + +Ray and Yetsko and Ramon Nogales started forward. Halfway to the next +conduit port, there was a smear of lubricating oil on the concrete, +and in it, and away from it in the direction of the store, they found +footprints. It was Ramon Nogales who noticed the oil on the ladder to +the next conduit port. + +"You stick here," Yetsko told him, "and when Mason and the others come +up, hold them here. Tell Mason to send one of the guards forward, and +use the rest of the gang to grab anybody who comes out. Come on, Ray." + +At the port beyond, they halted, waiting for Mason's man to come up. +They lost some time, thereafter, but they learned that the section of +conduit between the two ports was empty and that the main telephone +line to the store had been cut. Whoever had cut it had gone, either +forward or back away from the store. A little farther on, the sound of +shots ahead became audible over the clanking and rattling of the +conveyor belts. + +"Well, I guess this is where we start crawling," Yetsko said. "Your +father's people seem to be holding the store basement against a gang +in the conveyor tunnel." + +One of the boys scouted ahead, and returned to report that they could +reach the next conduit port, but that the section of both conveyor +belts ahead of him was stopped, apparently wedged. + +Yetsko stood for a moment, grimacing in an effort to reach a decision. + +"I'd like to just go forward and hit them from behind," he said. "But +I don't know how many of them there are, and we'd have to be careful, +shooting into them, that we didn't shoot up your father's gang, beyond +them. I wish--" + +"Well, let's go through the conduit, then," Ray said. "We can slide +down a branch conduit that runs a power line into the basement. I'll +go ahead; everybody at the store knows me, and they don't know you. +They might shoot you before they found out you were a friend." + +Before Yetsko could object, he started up the ladder, Yetsko behind +him and the others following. At the next conduit port, they could +hear shooting very plainly, seeming to be in front of them. At the +next one, the shooting seemed to be going on directly under them, in +the tunnel. With the flashlight Yetsko had passed forward to him, Ray +could see that the dust on the concrete floor of the three-foot by +three-foot passage between and under the power and telephone cables +was undisturbed. + +A little farther on, there was an opening on the left, and a power +cable branched off downward, at a sharp angle, overhead. Ray was able +to turn about and get his feet in front of him; Yetsko had to crawl on +until he had passed it, and then back into it after Ray had entered. +Bracing one foot on either side, Ray inched his way down the +forty-degree slope, hoping that the two hundred pound weight of Doug +Yetsko wouldn't start sliding upon him. + +Ahead, he could hear voices. He drew his hands and feet away from the +sides of the branch conduit and let himself slip, landing in a heap in +the electricians' shop, above the furnace rooms. Two men, who had been +working at a bench, trying to assemble a mass of equipment into a +radio, whirled, snatching weapons. Ray knew both of them--Sam +Jacobowitz and George Nyman, who serviced the store's communications +equipment. They both stared at him, swearing in amazement. + +"All right, Doug!" Ray called out. "We're in! Bring the gang down!" + + * * * * * + +Frank Cardon and Ralph Prestonby were waiting at the freight-elevator +door when it opened and Russell Latterman emerged, a rifle slung over +one shoulder. Cardon stepped forward and took the rifle from him. + +"Come on over here, Russ," he said. "And don't do anything reckless." + +They led him to one side. Latterman looked from one to the other +apprehensively, licking his lips. + +"It's all right; we're not going to hurt you, Russ," Cardon assured +him. "We just want a few facts. Beside rigging that business with +Bayne, and almost killing Chet Pelton, and forcing Claire to blow her +cover, how much did you have to do with this business?" + +"And who put you up to it?" Prestonby wanted to know. "My guess is +Joyner and Graves. Am I right?" + +"Graves," Latterman said. "Joyner didn't have anything to do with it; +didn't know anything about it. He's in charge of the Retail +Merchandising section, and any action like this would be unethical, +since Pelton's is a client of the Retail Merchandising section. All +Graves told me to do was fix up a situation, using my own judgment, +that would provoke a Literate strike and force either Claire or Frank +here to betray Literacy. But I had no idea that it would involve a +riot like this. If I had, I'd have stood on Literates' ethics and +refused to have any part in it." + +"That's about how I thought it would be," Cardon nodded. "Graves +probably was informed by Literates with the Independent-Conservatives +that this riot was planned; he wanted to get our people out of the +store. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't present at the extemporary +meeting that reversed Bayne's action in calling the strike." He handed +the rifle back to Latterman. "I just took this in case you might get +excited, before I could explain. And you can forget about the +Graves-Joyner opposition to Pelton. We had a meeting, right after +noon. Lancedale gained the upper hand; Joyner and Graves are +co-operating, now; the plan is to support Pelton and get on the inside +of the socialized Literacy program, when it's enacted." + +"I still think that's a suicidal policy," Latterman said. "But not as +suicidal as splitting the Fraternities and trying to follow two +policies simultaneously. I wonder if I could put a call through to +Literates' Hall without some of these picture-readers overhearing me." + +"You've been out of touch, down in the cellar, Russ." Prestonby told +him. "Our telephone line's cut, and the radio is smashed." He told +Latterman about the rocket attack on the control tower, which also +housed the store's telecast station. "So we're sandwiched, here; one +gang has us blocked at the twelfth floor, and another gang's up on the +roof, trying to get down at us from above, and we've no way to +communicate with the outside. We can pick up the regular telecasts, +but nobody outside seems to be paying much attention to us." + +"There's a lot of equipment down in the electricians' shop," Latterman +said. "Maybe we could rig up a sending set that could contact one of +the telecast stations outside." + +"That's an idea," Prestonby said. "Let's see what we can do about it." + +They went into Pelton's office. The store owner was still lying +motionless on his stretcher. Claire was fiddling with a telecast +receiving set; she had just tuned out a lecture on Home +Beautifications and had gotten the mid-section of a serial in which +three couples were somewhat confused over just who was married to +whom. + +"Nobody seems to realize what's happening to us!" she said, turning +the knob again. Then she froze, as Elliot C. Mongery--this time +sponsored by Parc, the Miracle Cleanser--appeared on the screen. + +"... And it seems that the attack on Chester Pelton has picked up new +complications; somebody seems determined to wipe out the whole Pelton +family, because, only ten minutes ago, some twenty armed men invaded +the Mineola High School, where Pelton's fifteen-year-old son, Raymond, +is a student, and forced their way to the office of Literate First +Class Ralph N. Prestonby, in an attempt to kidnap young Pelton. +Neither Literate Prestonby, the principal, nor the Pelton boy, who was +supposed to be in his office, could be found. The raiders were put to +flight by the presence of mind of Literate Martha B. Collins, who +pressed the button which turned in the fire alarm, filling the halls +with a mob of students. The interlopers fled in panic after being set +upon and almost mobbed--" + +Prestonby looked worried. "I left Ray in my office, with Doug Yetsko," +he said. "I can't understand--" + +[Illustration:] + +"Maybe Yetsko got a tip that they were coming and got Ray out of the +school," Cardon suggested. "I hope he took him home." He caught +himself just in time to avoid mentioning the platoon of Literates' +guards at the Pelton home, which he was not supposed to know about. +"Don't worry, Claire; if anything'd happened to Ray, Mongery'd have +been screaming about it to high heaven. That's what he's paid to do." + +"Well, I'll stake my life on it; if anybody tried to do anything to +Ray while Yetsko was with him, you'd have heard about it," Prestonby +said. "It'd have been a bigger battle than this one." + +"... Can't seem to find out anything about what's going on at +Pelton's store," Mongery continued. "Telephone and radio communication +seems to be broken, and, although there is continuous firing going on +inside the building, the city police, who have a cordon completely +around it, say that the situation in the store is well in hand. +Considering Chester Pelton's attacks on the city administration and +particularly the police department, I leave to your imagination what +they mean by that. We do know that a large body of unidentified +plug-uglies whom Police Inspector Cassidy claims are 'special +officers' are holding the conveyor line into the store at the downtown +Manhattan terminal, and nobody seems to know what's going on at the +other end--" + +"They have the sections of both belts at the store entrance end +wedged," Latterman said, coming up at the moment. "Coccozello has a +barricade thrown up across the store end of the tunnel, and they have +a barricade about fifty yards down the tunnel. That's where I was +fighting when you called me up." + +"Anything being done about gold-berging up a radio sending-set?" +Prestonby asked. + +"Yes. I just called Coccozello," Latterman said. "Fortunately, the +inter-department telephone is still working. He's put a couple of men +to work, and thinks he may have a set in operation in about half an +hour." + +"... And if, as I much fear, Chester Pelton has been murdered, then I +advise all listening to me to go to the polls tomorrow and vote the +straight Anarchist ticket. If we've got to have anarchy in this +country, let's have anarchy for all, and not just for Grant Hamilton +and his political adherents!" Mongery was saying. + + * * * * * + +There was a series of heavy explosions on the floor above. Everybody +grabbed weapons and hurried outside, crowding onto the escalators. The +floor above was a shambles, with bodies lying about, and the +descending escalator was packed with white-robed attackers, who had +apparently prepared for their charge by tossing down a number of +heavy fragmentation bombs. Cardon had a burp gun, this time; he +emptied the fifty-shot magazine into the hooded hoodlums who were +coming down. Prestonby, beside him, had a heavy sono gun; he kept it +trained on the head of the escalator and held the trigger back until +it was empty, then slapped in a fresh clip of the small blank +cartridges which produced the sound waves that were amplified and +altered to stunning vibrations. Still, many of the attackers got +through. More were dropping down the lift-platform shaft. Cardon's +submachine-gun ceased firing, the action open on an empty clip. He +dropped it and yanked the heavy pistol from his shoulder holster. +Then, from the direction of the freight elevator, reinforcements +arrived, headed by a huge man in the black leather of the Literates' +guard, who swung a three-foot length of fire hose with his right hand +and fired a pistol with his left, and a boy in a black-and-red jacket +who was letting off a burp gun in deliberate, parsimonious, bursts. It +was a second or two before Cardon recognized them as Prestonby's +bodyguard, Doug Yetsko, and Claire Pelton's brother Ray. There were +four Literates' guards and about a dozen boys with them, all firing +with a variety of weapons. + +At the same time, others were arriving on the escalators from the +floors below, firing as they came off--Slater's Literates' guards, the +Literates and their black-jacketed troopers of Hopkinson's store +service crew, the fifteen survivors of the twenty riflemen from Macy & +Gimbel's. The attackers turned and crowded onto the ascending +escalator. Most of them got away, the casualties being carried up by +the escalator. Doug Yetsko bounded forward and brought his fire hose +down on the back of one invader's neck. Then, after a last spatter of +upward-aimed shots from the defenders, there was silence. + +Cardon stepped forward and yanked the hood from the man whom Yetsko +had knocked down, hoping that he had a stunned prisoner who could be +interrogated. The man was dead, however, with a broken neck. For a +moment, Cardon looked down at the heavy, brutal features of Joe West, +the Illiterates' Organization man. If Chester Pelton got out of this +mess alive and won the election tomorrow, there was going to have to +be a purge in the Radical-Socialist party, and something was going to +have to be done about the Consolidated Organization of Illiterates. He +turned to Yetsko. + +"You and your gang got here just in the nick of time," he said. "How +did you get into the store?" + +"Through the freight conveyor, into the basement." + +"But I thought those goons had both ends of that plugged." + +"They did," Yetsko grinned. "But Ray Pelton took us in at the middle, +and we crawled through a cable conduit to get around the gang at this +end." + +Cardon looked around quickly, in search of Ray. The boy, having come +out of the excitement of battle, was looking around at the litter of +dead and wounded on the blood-splashed floor. His eyes widened, and he +gulped. Then, carefully setting the safety of his burp gun and +slinging it, he went over and leaned against the wall, and was sick. + +Prestonby, with Claire Pelton beside him, started toward the +white-faced, retching boy. Yetsko put out a hamlike hand to stop them. + +"If the kid wants to be sick, let him be sick," he said. "He's got a +right to. I was sicker'n that, after my first fight. But he won't do +that the next time." + +"There isn't going to be any next time!" Claire declared, with +maternal protectiveness. + +"That's what you think, Miss Claire," Yetsko told her. "That boy's +gonna make a great storm trooper," he declared. "Every bit as great as +Captain Prestonby, here." + +Claire looked up at Prestonby almost worshipfully. "And I never knew +anything about your being a fighting-man, till today," she said. +"Ralph, there's so much about you that I don't know." + +"There'll be plenty of time to find out, now, honey," he told her. + +Cardon stepped over the body of Joe West and went up to them. + +"Sorry to intrude on you two," he said, "but we've got to figure on +how to get out of here. Could we get out the same way you got in?" he +asked Yetsko. "And take Mr. Pelton with us?" + +Yetsko frowned. "Part of the way, we gotta crawl through this conduit; +it's only about a yard square. And we'd have to go up a ladder, and +out a manhole, to get out of the conveyor tunnel. What sorta shape's +Mr. Pelton in?" + +"He's under hypnotaine, completely unconscious," Prestonby said. + +"Then we'd have to drag him," Yetsko said. "Strap him up in a tarp, or +load him into a sleeping bag, if we can get hold of one." + +"There are plenty, down in the warehouse," Latterman interrupted, +joining them. "And the warehouse is in our hands." + +"All right," Cardon decided. "We'll take him out, now, and take him +home. I have some men there who'll take care of him. We'll have to get +you and Ray out, too," he told Claire. "I think we'll take both of you +to Literates' Hall; you'll be absolutely safe there." + +"But the store," Claire started to object. "And all these people who +came here to help us--" + +"As soon as I have your father home, I'm going to start rounding up a +gang to raise the siege," Cardon said. "Radical-Socialist storm +troops, and--" He grinned suddenly. "The insurance company; the one +that has the store insured against riot! Why didn't I think of them +before? They're losing money every second this thing goes on. It'll be +worth their while to start doing something to stop it!" + + * * * * * + +The trip out through the conduit was not so difficult, even with the +encumbrance of the unconscious Chester Pelton, but Prestonby was +convinced that, except for the giant strength of Doug Yetsko, it would +have been nearly impossible. Ray Pelton, recovered from his +after-battle nausea and steeled by responsibility, went first. Cardon +crawled after him, followed by a couple of the boys. Then came Yetsko, +dragging the sleeping bag in which Chester Pelton was packed like a +mummy. Prestonby himself followed, pushing on his future +father-in-law's feet, and Claire crawled behind, with the rest of +Ray's schoolmates for a rearguard. + +They got past the battle which was still going on at the entrance to +the store basement, letting Pelton down with a rope and carrying him +onto the outward-bound belt. They left it in time to assemble under +the ladder leading to the alley through which Ray said they had +entered, and hauled Pelton up after them. Then, when they were all out +in the open again, Ray ran up the alley and mounted a fire escape, +and, in a few minutes, a big 'copter truck which had been parked on +the roof let down to them. Into this, Cardon ordered the unconscious +senatorial candidate loaded, and the boys who had come with Ray. + +"I'll take him home, and then run the boys to the school," he told +Prestonby. "You and Ray and Claire get in this other 'copter and go +straight to Literates' Hall." He pointed up to the passenger vehicle +which was hovering above, waiting for the truck to leave. "Go in the +church way, and go straight to Lancedale's office. And here." He +scribbled an address and a phone number and a couple of names. "These +men have my 'copter at this address. Call them as soon as you get to +Literates' Hall and have them take it at once to Pelton's home, on +Long Island." + +Prestonby nodded and watched Cardon climb into the truck. The +Literates' guard who was driving lifted it up and began windmilling +away toward the east. The passenger 'copter, driven by another guard +from the school, settled down. Putting Ray and Claire into it, he +climbed in after them. + +"Ray," he said, "how would you like to be a real white-smock +Literate?" + +Ray's eyes opened. "You think I'm good enough?" + +"Good enough to be a novice, to start with. And I don't think you'll +stay a novice long." + +Claire looked at him inquiringly, saying nothing. + +"You, too, honey," he said. "Frank fixed it all up. You and Ray will +be admitted to the Fraternities, this afternoon. And that will remove +any objection to our being married." + +"But ... how about the Senator?" she asked. + +Prestonby shrugged. "It's all over the state now that you can read; +there's nothing that you can do about it. And Frank has a lot of +influence with him; he'll talk him around to where he'll be willing to +make the best of it, in a week or so." + + * * * * * + +Russell Latterman noticed that Major Slater was looking at him in a +respectfully inquiring manner. He said nothing, and, at length, the +Literates' guards officer broke the silence. + +"You didn't go out with the others." + +Latterman shook his head. "No, major; I'm an executive of Pelton's +Purchasers' Paradise, however unlike its name it may look at the +moment. My job's here. I'm afraid I'll have to lean pretty heavily on +you, until Mr. Cardon can get help to us. I'm not particularly used to +combat." + +"You've been doing all right with that rifle," Slater told him. + +"I can hit what I aim at, yes. But I'm not used to commanding men in +combat, and I'm not much of a tactician." + +Slater thrust out his hand impulsively. "I took a sort of poor view +of you, at first. I'm sorry," he said. "Want me to take command?" + +"If you please, major." + +"What are you going to do, after this thing's over?" Slater asked. + +"Stay on with Pelton's, provided Mr. P. doesn't find out that I +organized that trick with his medicine and the safe," Latterman said. +"Since Lancedale seems to have gotten on top at the Hall, I am, as of +now, a Lancedale partisan. That's partly opportunism, and it's partly +because, since a single policy has been adopted, I feel obliged to go +along with it. I'll have to get the store back in operation, as soon +as possible. Pelton's going to need money, badly, if he's going to try +for the presidency in '44." He looked around him. "You know, I've +always wanted to run a fire sale; this'll be even better--a battle +sale!" + + * * * * * + +Cardon watched Chester Pelton apprehensively as the bald-headed +merchant and senatorial candidate sipped from the tall glass in his +hand and then set it on the table beside him. His face was pale, and +he had the look of a man who has just been hit with a blackjack. + +"That's an awful load of bricks to dump on a man, all at once, +Frank," he said reproachfully. + +"You'd rather I told you, now, than turn on the TV and hear some +commentator talking about it, wouldn't you?" Cardon asked. + +Pelton swore vilely, in a lifeless monotone, cursing Literacy, and +all Literates back to the invention of the alphabet. Then he stopped +short. + +"No, Frank, I don't mean that, either. My own son and daughter are +Literates; I can't say that about them. But how long--?" + +"Oh, for about a year, I'd say. I understand, now, that they were +admitted to the Fraternities six months ago," he invented. + +"And they were working against me, all that time?" Pelton demanded. + +Cardon shook his head. "No, Chet; they were for you, all the way. Your +daughter exposed her Literacy to save your life. Your son and his +teacher came to your store and fought for you. But there are Literates +who want to see you defeated, and they're the ones who made that +audio-visual, secretly, of the ceremony in which your son and daughter +took the Literates' Oath and received the white smock, and they're +going to telecast it this evening at twenty-one hundred. Coming on top +of the stories that have been going around all afternoon, and Slade +Gardner's speech, this morning, they think that'll be enough to defeat +you." + +"Well, don't you?" Pelton gloomed. "My own kids, Literates!" He seemed +to have reached a point at which he was actually getting a masochistic +pleasure out of turning the dagger in his wounds. "Who'd trust me, +after this?" + +"No, Chet; it isn't enough to beat you--if you just throw away that +crying towel and start fighting. They made one mistake that's going +to wreck them." + +"What's that, Frank?" Pelton brightened, by about one angstrom unit. + +"The timing, of course!" Cardon told him, impatiently. "I thought +you'd see that, at once. This telecast comes on at twenty-one hundred. +Your final speech comes on at twenty-one thirty. As soon as they've +shown this business of Claire and Ray taking the Literate Oath, you'll +be on the air, yourself, and if you put on any kind of a show worth +the name, it won't be safe for anybody in this state to be caught +wearing a white smock. Now, if they'd only had the wit to wait till +after you'd delivered that speech you've been practicing on for the +last two weeks, and then spring this on you, that would have been +different. They'd have had you over a barrel. But this way, you have +them!" + +Pelton took another gulp from the tall glass at his elbow, emptying +it. "Fix me up another of these, Frank," he said. "I feel like a new +man, already." Then his face clouded again. "But we have no time to +prepare a speech, now, and I just can't ad lib one." + +Cardon drew a little half-inch record-disk from his pocket case. + +"Play this off," he said. "I had it fixed up, as soon as I got wise to +what was going to happen. The voice is one of the girls in my office, +over at the brewery. Pronunciation, grammar, elocution and everything +correct." + +Pelton snapped the disk onto his recorder and put in the ear plug. +Then, before he pressed the stud, he looked at Cardon curiously. + +"How'd you get onto this, anyhow, Frank?" he wanted to know. + +"Well ... I hope you don't ask me for an accounting of all the money +I've been spending in this campaign, because some of the items would +look funny as hell, but--" + +"No accounting, Frank. After all, you spent as much of your own money +as you did of mine," Pelton interrupted. + +"... But I bought myself a pipe line into Literates' Hall big enough +to chase an elephant through," Cardon went on, ignoring the +interruption. "This fellow Mongery, for instance." Elliot Mongery was +one of Literate Frank Cardon's best friends; he comforted his +conscience with the knowledge that Mongery would slander him just as +unscrupulously, if the interests of the Lancedale Plan were at stake. +"I have Mongery just like this." He made a clutching and lifting +gesture, as though he were picking up some small animal by the scruff +of the neck. "So, as soon as I got word of it, I started getting this +thing together. It isn't the kind of a job a Literate semanticist +would do, but it's all honest Illiterate thinking, in Illiterate +language. Turn it on, and tell me what you think of it." + +While Pelton listened to the record, Cardon mixed him another of the +highballs, adding a little of the heart-stimulant the medic had given +him. Pelton was grinning savagely when he turned off the little +machine and took out the ear plug. + +"Great stuff, Frank! And I won't have to ham it much; it's just about +the way I feel." He thought for a moment. "You have me talking about +my ruined store, there. Just how bad is it, anyhow?" + +"Pretty bad, Chet. Latterman says it's going to take some time to get +it fixed up, but he expects to be open for business by Thursday or +Friday. He's going to put on a big Battle Sale; he says it's going to +make retail-merchandising history. And the insurance covers most of +the damage." + +"Well, tell me about it. How did you get the riot stopped, after you +got me out? And how did you--?" + +Cardon shook his head. "You play that record over again; get yourself +in the mood. When you go on, we'll have you in a chair, wrapped in a +blanket ... you're supposed to have crawled back out of the Valley of +the Shadow of Death to make this speech ... and we'll have the wire +run down inside the blanket, so that you can listen to the speech +while you're giving it. Chet, this is going to be one of the great +political speeches of all time--" + + * * * * * + +Literate William R. Lancedale looked up from his desk and greeted his +visitor with a smile. + +"Well, Frank! Sit down and accept congratulations! I suppose you got +the returns?" + +Cardon nodded, dropping into a chair beside the desk. "Just came from +campaign headquarters. This automatic tally system they use on the +voting machines is really something. Complete returns tabulated and +reported for the whole state within forty minutes after the polls +closed. I won't be silly enough to ask you if you got the returns." + +"I deserved that, of course," Lancedale chuckled. "Can I offer you +refreshment? A nice big stein of Cardon's Black Bottle, for instance?" + +Cardon shuddered and grimaced horribly. "I've been drinking that slop +by the bucketful, all day. And Pelton's throwing a victory party, +tonight, and I'll have to choke down another half gallon of it. Give +me a cup of coffee, and one of those good cigars of yours." + +Lancedale grinned at him. "Ah, yes, the jolly brewer. His own best +advertisement. How's Pelton reacting to his triumph? And what's his +attitude toward his children? I've been worrying about that; vestigial +traces of a conscience, I suppose." + +"Well, I had to keep him steamed up, till after he went off the air," +Cardon said. "Chet isn't a very good actor. But after that, I talked +to him like a Dutch uncle. Told him what a swell pair of kids and a +fine son-in-law he had. He got sore at me. Tried to throw me out of +the house, a couple of times. I was afraid he was going to have +another of those attacks. But by the time Ralph and Claire get back +from their honeymoon and Ray finishes that cram-course for Literate +prep school, he'll be ready to confer the paternal blessing all +around. I'm going to stay in town and make sure of it, and then I'm +taking about a month's vacation." + +"You've earned it, all right." Lancedale poured Cardon's coffee and +passed him the cigar humidor. "How's Pelton's attitude toward the +Consolidated Illiterates' Organization, now?" + +Cardon, having picked up the Italian stiletto to puncture his cigar, +looked at it carefully to make sure that it really had no edge, and +then drew it quickly across his throat. + +"Just like that. You know what really happened, yesterday afternoon, +at the store, don't you?" + +"Well, in general, yes. I wish you'd fill me in on some of the +details, though, Frank." + +"Details he wants. Well." Cardon blew on his coffee and sipped it. +"The way we played it for propaganda purposes, of course, there was +only one big riot, and it was all the work of the wicked Literates and +their Independent-Conservative hirelings. Actually, there were two +riots. First, there was one the Independents had planned for about a +week in advance; that was the one Sforza tipped us on, the one that +started in China. Graves knew about it, enough to advise Latterman to +get all the Literates out of the store before noon, which Latterman +did, with trimmings. + +"Then, there was another riot, masterminded by a couple of +Illiterates' Organization Action Committee people named Joe West and +Horace Yingling, both deceased. That was the result of Latterman's +bright idea to trap Claire and/or me into betraying Literacy. These +Illiterate fanatics made up their minds, to speak rather loosely, that +the whole Pelton family were Literates, including Chet himself. They +decided that it was better to kill off their candidate and use him for +a martyr two years from now than to elect him and have him sell them +out. They got about a hundred or so of their goons dressed in +Independent-Conservative KKK costumes, bought air support from Patsy +Callazo's mob, up in Vermont, and made that attack on the top landing +stage, after starting a fake riot in North Jersey, to draw off the +regular Radical-Socialist storm troops. Incidentally, when I found out +it was Callazo's gang that furnished those fighter bombers, I hired +another mob to go up and drop a block-buster on Callazo's field, to +teach him to keep his schnozzle out of politics." + +Lancedale nodded briskly. "That I approve of. How about West and +Yingling?" + +"Prestonby's muscle man, Yetsko, killed West. I took care of Comrade +Yingling, myself, after I'd gotten reinforcements to the store--first +a couple of free-lance storm troops that the insurance company hired, +and then as many of the Radical Rangers as I could gather up." + +"And Pelton knows about all this?" + +"He certainly does! After this caper, the Illiterates' Organization's +through, as far as any consideration or patronage from the Radicals is +concerned." + +"Well, that's pretty nearly the best thing I've heard out of the whole +business," Lancedale said. "In about eight or ten years, we may want +to pull the Independent-Conservative party together again, to cash in +on public dissatisfaction with Pelton's socialized Literacy program, +which ought to be coming apart at the seams by then. And if we have +the Illiterates split into two hostile factions--" + +Cardon finished his coffee. "Well, chief, I've got to be getting +along. O'Reilly can only cover me for a short while, and I have to be +getting to this victory party of Pelton's--" + +Lancedale rose and shook hands with him. "I can't tell you, too many +times, what a fine job you did, Frank," he said. "I hope ... no, +knowing you, I'm positive ... that you'll be able to engineer a +reconciliation between Pelton and his son and daughter and young +Prestonby. And then, have yourself a good vacation." + +"I mean to. I'm going deer hunting, to a place up in the mountains, +along the old Pennsylvania-New York state line. A little community of +about a thousand people, where everybody, men, women and children, can +read." + +Lancedale was interested. "A community of Literates?" + +Cardon shook his head. "Not Literates-with-a-big-L; just people who +can read and write," he replied. "It's a kind of back-eddy sort of +place, and I imagine, a couple of hundred years ago, the community was +too poor to support one of these 'progressive' school systems that +made Illiterates out of the people in the cities. Probably couldn't +raise enough money in school taxes to buy all the expensive +audio-visual equipment, so they had to use old-fashioned textbooks, +and teach the children to read from them. They have radios, and TV, of +course, but they also have a little daily paper, and they have a +community library." + +Lancedale was thoughtful, for a moment. "You know, Frank, there must +be quite a few little enclaves of lower-case-literacy like that, in +back-woods and mountain communities, especially in the west and the +south. I'm going to make a project of finding such communities, +helping them, and getting recruits from them. They'll fit into the +Plan. Well, I'll be seeing you some time tomorrow, I suppose?" + +He watched Cardon go out, and then poured a glass of port for himself +and sipped slowly, holding the glass to the light and watching the +ruby glow it cast on the desk top. It had been over thirty years ago, +when he had been old Jules de Chambord's assistant, that the Plan had +been first conceived. De Chambord was dead these twenty years, and he +had taken the old man's place, and they had only made the first step. +Things would move faster, now, but he would still die before the Plan +was completed, and Frank Cardon, whom he had marked as his successor, +would be an old man, and somebody like young Ray Pelton would be ready +to replace him, but the Plan would go on, until everybody would be +literate, not Literate, and illiteracy, not Illiteracy, would be a +mark of social stigma, and most people would live their whole lives +without personal acquaintance with an illiterate. + +There were a few years, yet, to prepare for the next step. The white +smocks would have to go; Literates would have to sacrifice their +paltry titles and distinctions. There would have to be a +re-constitution of the Fraternities. Wilton Joyner and Harvey Graves +and the other Conservative Literates would have to be convinced, +emotionally as well as intellectually, of the need for change. There +were a few of the older brothers who could never adjust their +thinking; they would have to be promoted to positions with higher +salaries and more impressive titles and no authority whatever. + +But that was all a matter of tactics; the younger men, like Frank +Cardon and Elliot Mongery and Ralph Prestonby, could take care of +that. Certain changes would occur: A stable and peaceful order of +society, for one thing. A rule of law, and the liquidation of these +goon gangs and storm troops and private armies. If a beginning at that +were made tomorrow, using the battle at Pelton's store to mobilize +public opinion, it would still take two decades to get anything really +significant done. And a renaissance of technological and scientific +progress--Today, the manufacturers changed the 'copter models twice a +year--and, except for altering the shape of a few chromium-plated +excrescences or changing the contours slightly, they were the same +'copters that had been buzzing over the country at the time of the +Third World War. Every month, the pharmaceutical companies announced a +new wonder drug--and if it wasn't sulfa, it was penicillin, and if it +wasn't penicillin it would be aureomycin. Why, most of the scientific +research was being carried on by a few Literates in the basements of a +few libraries, re-discovering the science of two centuries ago. + +He sighed, and finished his port, and, as he did probably once every +six months, he re-filled the glass. He'd be seventy-two next birthday. +Maybe he'd live long enough to see-- + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Null-ABC, by +Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuire + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NULL-ABC *** + +***** This file should be named 18346.txt or 18346.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/4/18346/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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